


Broken Emissary

by lookslikenico, winglesswarrior



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Future Fic, M/M, Teen Wolf AU, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookslikenico/pseuds/lookslikenico, https://archiveofourown.org/users/winglesswarrior/pseuds/winglesswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>None of it was meant to happen this way. It hadn't been planned. Yet suddenly, there was Deaton, telling Stiles that Derek had killed the alpha, that the werewolf had his own pack again, that they needed an emissary - and that Stiles was the only one qualified and available. Only, Stiles hasn't spoken to Derek in five years and has never forgiven him for what happened. </p><p>How the hell is this supposed to work?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Canon through season 3B

After the nogitsune, everything changed. Stiles hated how cliché it sounded in his head, but it was the honest truth. Everything was different - because of him.

For starters, Allison was dead. That was Stiles’ fault. That was something he did. Maybe not him directly, but while he’d been possessed he had ordered her death. He had seen it through the nogitsune’s eyes. Just like he had seen all the deaths. All the major injuries, all the close calls. Stiles almost killed the rest of his friends. He’d almost blown up his dad. He’d stabbed, literally stabbed, his best friend. He had seen deaths and the aftermath of deaths caused by his body - if not by his will - until it felt like it would be a mercy on the world if he could just _die_. He had wanted to die. Felt like he deserved to die - that maybe that way it would balance the scales. He had stood in a fake snow storm with a katana to his stomach, trying to will himself to kill himself with Lydia watching because Scott couldn’t do it. Scott never would have been able to do it. 

After it was all over, Stiles realised he was a threat to everyone around him. It made no difference if he was possessed or not. The others, they were _things_. They were wolves and banshees and the like, but Stiles was just _Stiles_. Pale, skinny, _weak_. He was completely susceptible to bodily harm and possession by whatever nasty came to town next. The realisation scared him to his core, on top of everything the nogitsune had done to him, body and soul. Stiles had looked for answers. He’d even looked into that weird tattoo that Sam and Dean got on Supernatural as if it was a source for actual legitimate knowledge, because he didn’t want to lose control of his body again. He couldn’t bear that. It didn’t pan out. Of course it didn’t. Fiction was _fiction_ for a reason, after all.

As senior year started, he realized that the pack had changed. It was Scott’s pack now; Mr.True Alpha who was still a little bit dense, had a proper pack. Sort of. There were several pack members that weren’t wolves, but that didn’t seem to bother anyone. The dynamic worked. There were Lydia, Malia, and Kira, who all seemed as stuck to Scott as they were to each other. They were the core. Danny somehow had won his way in. Ethan had left town after the death of his brother, but he’d shown back up again after a few months, enrolling in school to finish and graduate. He became a proper beta as well. Even Derek Hale won Scott over and found his way into the pack, settling in nicely as beta and unofficial second in command to Scott.

Not everyone had settled. Isaac had left - just left - after all of it. He had taken what remained of the nogitsune on a mission to deliver it far away. Everyone had waited for him to come back, but after six months before they finally accepted that he wasn’t. He was gone too. Stiles wasn’t surprised. He’d heard how Isaac and Allison had grown close. In a way, he was grateful that he didn’t have to look Isaac in the eye.

The McCall pack made sense. It worked. And then there was Stiles. Stiles was still pack, but it wasn’t the same. He didn’t get involved the way he once had. He couldn’t avoid it entirely, of course. They were more than just pack, they were friends and senior year was about spending it together, living out those final high school memories as Kira called them. They became a clique that had their own table in the cafeteria that others didn’t join. Often though, Stiles wasn’t there. He kept his distance. He was aware that it worried some people, but not enough for them to really make a big deal of his absence. Eventually, he only showed up when Lydia sought him out and made him.

Things changed with Scott. Stiles wasn’t sure when it happened, but they were different. Maybe it was because they didn’t talk about Allison. They didn’t talk about any of the things Stiles had done when he wasn’t himself. They didn’t talk about the fact that Stiles had been suicidal for those last few days, thinking that if he died, it would solve everything and so frustrated that no one would let him die. They were still best friends, still brothers, but they didn’t talk as much any more. The nogitsune lived on as the giant elephant in the room.

Late at night, Stiles wonders if Derek would have killed him. That was what he wanted in those last days - for the reckless werewolf to show up and just rip his throat out. Put an end to it and make good on that threat. Funny thing was, Derek didn’t even bother to show up. The nogitsune had been so worried about the big bad wolf and the big bad waste of space never showed up.

In the weeks and months that followed Stiles’ return to himself, things changed with Lydia, though not in a way Stiles expected. She kept pushing, trying to drag him out of his shell and more than once he wished she’d give up on her hiatus from dating after Aidan and get a boyfriend. The last thing Stiles expected was to _be_ that boyfriend. Then there was winter break, and she roped him into taking her out one night. Some cheesy movie she’d wanted to see. Somehow, her hand had wound up in his. By the time school started back for their last semester they were a couple. Stiles threw everything into it, except for his heart. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He’d been in love with Lydia for as long as he could remember, almost, yet when his day finally came… She wasn’t it for him. His love had turned into something else. Still, he treated her the way he knew she deserved. Better than those guys she’d been with before. He put his energies into being the perfect boyfriend, living just to make her smile.

She told him years later, long after their inevitable breakup, that he had been good for her, despite the fact that it sometimes felt like they were dating because they should, not because they wanted to. She had never been with a nice guy before. She hadn’t known what she was missing out on. At the time, they didn’t talk like that. They had both lived the illusion of the perfect couple. He gave her the world and she’d returned the favor prom night, pulling him into bed with her in the hotel room she’d insisted he get and took care of that pesky virginity issue. He wanted to love her that night. To be able to tell her that in the dark when she was perfect under him, but he couldn’t. He did, but not the way he wanted to. Lydia wasn’t bothered by it.

When she left two weeks after graduation for early enrolment at Columbia University in New York, he’d kissed her goodbye, but knew the moment she got on the plane they weren’t together anymore. She had tried, whilst they were filling out applications to colleges, to get him to go east with her - if only just to leave town. He’d humoured her. Even gotten into a couple of schools, but in the end, the look his father had given him at the prospect of his son being so far away was too much. The best Lydia had gotten was Stiles picking a state school two hours away with a ridiculously diversified course catalogue.

Three days after kissing Lydia goodbye at the airport, Stiles had packed up his jeep and left Beacon Hills behind.

College was something Stiles was equal parts good at and bad at. He took everything. There was no point in declaring a major - he simply signed up for close to twenty hours of coursework his first two semesters. He took whatever classes he could get into on a variety of topics: biology, chemistry, ancient histories, dead languages, criminology, psychology... Anything that sparked an interest.

He mostly kept in touch with people - Scott sometimes because he’d stayed at home to stay close to his pack; Lydia always; and his dad like clockwork on Sundays. He’d added Deaton to the mix, asking questions about lore and chemical concoctions as he studied them and pursued them. Some weekends he went home just to see Deaton, not telling anyone else was around. He would sit with the druid and learn at his hand, soaking in the older man’s knowledge on herbs and plants and their effects on things that came into contact with them.

Stiles was driven by a need to know. To fill in those holes in his knowledge so that nothing could ever blindside him again. So that next time - and he was in no doubt that there would be a next time - he would know what he was fighting. He became obsessed, to the exclusion of almost everything else. Sure, he’d left Beacon Hills and gone to college, but he never really settled there. He became a loner. He had few friends - even his dorm mate seemed to barely know his name. He had more interaction with his professors and the staff in the library than he did with his peers, outside any mandatory group work.

He could only claim to have had something approaching a ’normal’ college existence because Lydia made him a list of things had had to accomplish in college because she figured out that he was doing college wrong. 

Top of the list was to hook up with a guy and Stiles regretted telling her about that sexual identity crisis he’d had in high school. There were other things, pull an all nighter (easy), go to a frat party (not as easy), participate in some cheesy college tradition (straight up lied about that one). Last on the list was fly to New York for spring break to see her.

Stiles had done as directed, studying everything he could get his hands on, going home when school was out, going to the occasional party, he even hooked up with a male TA who was more than happy to swipe the other v-card Stiles had been carrying around and confirm that yes, he liked guys and chicks and it wasn’t a big deal. For spring break he flew to New York, meeting Lydia in baggage claim. She had a plan for the week, which he almost completely ruined by scheduling meetings with professors at her university around projects that he’d come up with to research. He’d left her fuming in corridors as he discussed the finer points of any number of topics with professors who were out of the league of his college. He was even offered a couple of scholarships pretty much on the spot on the basis of his independent research.

Through it all though, she never gave up on him and in return, she became his lifeline. The one point that anchored him to the world and stopped him losing himself altogether.

While he wouldn’t say it to the others, she was his best friend. Often the physical line of their friendship blurred when they were in the same place, neither one of them finding any fault with him sleeping in her bed when he stayed at her tiny apartment in the city. Hooking up was fine on the occasions it happened and Stiles figured he couldn’t be blamed for having sex with the one person he trusted more than anyone else. It wasn’t a romantic thing, just a need that could be fulfilled and without impacting anything. She was still there for him, he still let her keep him grounded and connected. They weren’t together. They never would be.

For four years, Stiles moved through the motions. He spent two summers abroad, getting grants to cover the trips based on his research and his contacts at Columbia. Lydia came on one of the trips, just to keep an eye on him. He locked himself in archives and she did the minimum amount of coursework needed as she flirted and slept with European men. 

Stiles wondered what his life had become that the arrangement didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Graduation was an interesting affair, trying to piece together enough cohesive coursework for a proper degree, which wound up being a double major in criminology and psychology. The ceremony itself felt silly, but his dad got teared up with how proud he was and said that his mother would have loved to see the moment. The sheriff took too many photos and helped Stiles pack up his dorm room to move home.

There were grad school offers and some jobs in southern California, but being a profiler and consultant for the Beacon Hills sheriff’s department and some of the other surrounding counties made more sense. Stiles got to work with his father, solving crimes for real this time and not just after pestering the man to death. Stiles picked up his training with Deaton in his spare time, enhancing what the other man was already doing with what he’d learned along the way.

While things were still distant, Stiles helped Scott with his pack and anything that threatened it. It meant he wound up at the occasional ’pack meeting’ which Scott had named them after Stiles left and Stiles was pretty sure he wouldn’t have let them do that if he was around. Nor would he have let Kira take notes and email out minutes from the meeting like they were the high school debate team.

Stiles never really felt he reconnected with the pack he had left behind, though he admitted that to no one - not even Lydia. He had his habits. He would turn up to meetings and sit in the corner, keep quiet and observe. It was rare that anyone would ask for his input. The only time he felt more engaged was in their more social events, when Scott and some of the others would go out of their way to talk to him. Stiles knew they didn’t really know how to deal with the person he had become, lost as he was in his books and his research.

He didn’t even realise how much he knew until suddenly he was teaching Deaton, rather than the other way round. Even then, he didn’t think much of it. Stiles had always felt the importance of sharing knowledge, and if he had covered areas that the druid hadn’t entered, then it was a way of paying the other man back.

“You’re getting better at this,” Deaton had said. “Better than I ever was. I think you’ve got a gift for it.”

Stiles had shrugged and gone back to mulling over something that was mostly a spell that he’d found and he and Deaton we working on. They weren’t calling it magic, but Stiles knew enough now to know that was what it was. There was no lying about it at this point.

Things weren’t always easy. There was still trouble. Beacon Hills was a hotbed for it and with the McCall pack finally coming of age, no longer a group of gangly teenagers, other packs were starting to notice. The first word they’d heard of the pack trying to edge into their territory came from Derek.

“They’re circling the perimeter,” he reported, like he did now. Stiles didn’t look at him, continuing to read even if part of him was listening. He couldn’t stand Derek. Derek had let him down when he needed him most and he wasn’t about to start trusting him now. “They look like they’re looking for a way in, setting up in the hills at the moment.”

Scott had nodded sagely and told Derek to keep an eye on things. Stiles had thrown up a little in his mouth because it felt like something out of a bad movie.

There had been a plan. There had been several plans in fact, one after the other. First had come diplomacy. This was McCall territory. That plan had failed pretty quickly. Word had spread - beacon in Beacon Hills was a strong enough call and the effect was over a wide enough area that the other pack didn’t see a problem in splitting the territory. Scott did. They had all lived through enough that they didn’t share well with strangers.

The final plan had come to violence. Or, at least, the anticipation thereof. Stiles had been there as the pack prepared to defend their territory with tooth and claw.

That was when he’d realised that Derek was missing. Once again, when the shit really hit the fan, the Hale wolf was notably absent. Scott brushed Stiles’ concerns aside. Derek would come through, he said. Derek always did, he said. Stiles knew that the alpha’s faith in his beta was misplaced. Derek had never come through, not when Stiles needed him. Not when it really mattered.

They’d found him when they went out to challenge the other pack though. There he was, Peter in tow, standing over the dead alpha from the other pack - eyes glowing red again. Scott was mortified. Stiles was trying not to gloat in how right he’d been. Selfish son of a bitch. The whole beta game had been a plot. It would figure. Stiles hoped he died a painful death and meant it this time. No way was Stiles saving his ass again.

There were once again two alphas in Beacon Hills and this time it wasn’t someone Scott was willing to run out of town. No, of course not. Scott wanted to _work_ with Derek. To divide the territory up, the way the other alpha had wanted and the way they’d all agreed wasn’t possible. Apparently, it was different now. Because it was _Derek_.

Stiles had left the pack meeting in disgust, never to return.

Two weeks later, Deaton had sought him out. Talking about Emissaries and the importance of a liaison for a pack. Stiles had given the guy a totally blank look, right up until the moment when the realization set in. Deaton meant Derek’s pack. The new pack. Which needed an Emissary. 

Stiles had argued, of course. Deaton had been Emissary for Talia Hale. He could be Emissary for her son, now that he’d decided that one round of ’how to royally fail at being an alpha’ wasn’t enough for him. Deaton had told him in no uncertain terms that it didn’t work like that. An Emissary bound themselves to an alpha, not a line. Deaton had retired when Talia died. Maybe he would have tried with Laura, but Laura had moved what little had remained of her shattered family to New York, and Deaton hadn’t followed. The years had passed, and now Deaton had given his loyalty to Scott. The bond was there and it was clear.

Stiles had countered that he was no druid, figuring that druids were born, not made. It was like a bitchslap in the face to learn that wasn’t the way at all. Druids were what they were because of what they knew - and Stiles knew more, especially given his young age, than most druids ever would. He was an Emissary. Or he would be, once he had an alpha.

“I hate that guy,” Stiles insisted watching Deaton’s hands flex on the mug he was holding. 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“He hates me.”

“He doesn’t.” 

“He’s threatened to kill me more than once.” Of course it had been years since then. Actually Stiles hadn’t said three words to Derek since he moved home, but that was not the point. He could tell, though, that Deaton knew exactly what he wasn’t saying, if the way the other man’s nostrils flared and his jaw tightened in frustration was any indication. Still, Deaton’s tone remained level.

“Derek requires a guide.”

“You mean he needs help,” Stiles interjected.

“That too. _All_ alphas need guidance.”

“Not as much as Mr. Failwolf,” Stiles had quipped. “We both know he’s not cut out to lead.”

“If that’s your opinion, then you should realise how much he requires assistance.”

“He should never have gotten himself into that position again in the first place. At least two of my friends are _dead_ because of Derek,” Stiles spat, regardless of the fact that once upon a time he had forgiven the werewolf for that. Things had regressed since then, forgiveness revoked when Derek hadn’t been there when he was needed. Maybe it had been petty, but Stiles had no idea whether he had ever really known the man. It hurt, deep in his bones, wondering who Derek really was. Determinedly never caring to find out.

“And I’m telling you that you can help keep it from happening to anyone else. You can be the center that keeps people safe. Just like you want to.”

“I didn’t really envision myself doing it in a way that helped him.” Stiles sounded as disgusted as he was. At one point, he’d convinced himself he had Derek wrong in the beginning. That he was a good guy. Stiles had been so wrong. 

“Life rarely turns out the way we expect it to,” Deaton said, his voice level in a way that made it sound like he was agreeing with Stiles, yet still making his point. It was just shy of annoying. Not enough for Stiles to be able to argue with it, but enough to make him realise he’d been out manouvered. It wasn’t something which happened to him often. He wasn’t one to give up without a fight though.

“I’m Scott’s best friend. I’ve been part of his pack since the beginning. I can’t just jump ship now,” he protested, wincing at the searching look given in return.

“Do you really believe that, Stiles?” Deaton asked him. “Not that you were - but that you still are? I think we both know that you haven’t really been pack for a number of years now. You are an ally. They would welcome you back, but… You’ve been holding yourself apart since before you graduated high school. You ‘jumped ship’ long ago.”

Again Stiles scowled because he knows Deaton is right. He’d all but formally made the decision when he walked out on Scott’s meeting two weeks before. He wasn’t pack. If he was pack he’d feel more like he had a place. “Scott’ll think I’m jumping ship,” he tried, but it was weaker. He was aware he was losing this one.

“I can talk to Scott. He’ll understand.”

“Course he will, because he has some kind of hard on for Derek,” Stiles tried - one last attempt, that was met with absolutely no reaction, other than a slightly raised brow.

“I doubt this will be as bad as you think. Derek has been securing his new pack-”

“More naive, isolated, malleable teenagers who will cling to whatever illusion of family they’re offered?”

“-of experienced, aware werewolves. Nobody’s been turned fresh and, as far as I am aware, he has no intentions of doing so.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “At least he’s learned _something_ ,” he muttered.

Deaton continued, as though Stiles had said nothing at all. “You’ll even find some familiar faces.”

“What familiar faces?” Stiles sounds both interested and skeptical. Who from their current pack did Derek poach? Ethan? Maybe. Who else was left? The crazies from the alpha pack, there were still some of them right? Probably a were-chick that would double as a great psycho girlfriend. Derek hadn’t had one of those in an age. He was due up again. 

“You’ll see. Meet with him Stiles. It’ll do you both good.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I can't believe you still live here,” Stiles said as he pushed opened the door to the loft, getting a look from Derek like the werewolf wasn’t expecting him or didn't hear him coming. He’d made noise in the hall on purpose. The last thing he wanted to do was surprise Derek. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Derek asked, head canted to the side like a damn wolf. That was annoying. He’d always been like that, because he was a born were and all, but that look made him look stupid. 

“Because, I dunno...people died here?” Stiles tried, knowing full well it was rude and a low blow. Lower considering when everyone rushed to the others in the room that day, he’d rushed to Derek. He’d had that whole thing so wrong. He knew the blow had hit home though, seeing the look that flashed across the other man’s face, and he felt no guilt for it.

Derek recovered fast enough though. “Would you prefer to meet somewhere else?” he asked, tightly, glancing toward the door. “We could get coffee. Talk.”

Stiles snorted a little. He wasn’t buying Derek’s attempts to be polite. “No - here’s fine.” Better to remember just what happened to people who got involved with Derek Hale. Better to remember that he would never be the alpha that anyone actually deserved.

Derek had that twitch across his eyebrows that he got when his patience was wearing a little. “Alright. Here’s fine. So...Deaton suggested this. I thought, we could figure out us a little, then maybe later you could meet the pack. Just as Stiles.” 

Stiles just nodded along, pacing around the loft. He hadn’t been in the place in ages. His eyes were looking at the walls, the furniture, just a little ratty like it had been used for years, the dark corners Stiles had known pretty well at one point. He’d wanted to spend lots of time here. Then Derek had been Derek and Stiles had decided he didn’t want to be here ever again. 

He needed to stop breaking his own personal rules. 

“So what do you want to talk about?” Stiles asked, dropping into an armchair. 

Derek stayed standing, placing himself in the center of the room, before the huge window, raised up on that platform so that Stiles had to look up at him. Stiles figured the other man did it on purpose, but if Derek thought that Stiles was going to be intimidated by his little tactics, then he had another thing coming. 

“I’ve never worked with an emissary before. Except for Deaton, and that was really just about observing what the relationship was like between him and Scott. “We should discuss how involved you actually want to be.” Derek paused, before adding, “And the fact that Scott’s your oldest friend.”

“And I am Scott’s oldest friend. That’s not changing, just you know FYI.” Stiles could hear his tone get condescending but he didn’t care. “As for involved...Well considering you suck at this I should probably be pretty damn involved. Otherwise you’re going to get more people killed.” 

Derek growled, his eyes flashing red. “You think you know how to be an alpha?” he snarled, before he seemed to physically get ahold of himself and calm his flash of temper.

“You forgetting that I’ve seen your attempts at being an alpha before,” Stiles shot right back at him, not caring in the slightest that Derek was trying to remain calm. If the other man couldn’t keep his cool, then he had even less business being in this position. Also, Stiles was going to show that he wasn’t afraid of him - not hard. Stiles had never been afraid of Derek Hale. Not even back in the days when everyone else was.

“This isn’t before,” Derek ground out. He took a deep breath, inhaling slowly through his nostrils. “I’m older now, and we don’t have an alpha pack bearing down on us.”

“Yeah, Deaton mentioned that you’ve not gone back to your old habits,” Stiles said. At Derek’s confused frown, he expanded on his statement with a wave of his hand. “You’re not turning kids again. Promising them the world and bringing them pain, torture and death instead.”

Derek’s face fell at that and Stiles counted it as a triumphant win. He could do this. Remind Derek not to be a moronic douchebag and that what he’d done had gotten people hurt. Scott had told him, after he’d recovered from being possessed that Derek had said he wasn’t interested in power anymore. That was part of why he’d become pack. Stiles hadn’t believed it and of course he was right. “I never meant for them to get hurt.” Derek’s voice was tight, like he was reigning in his emotions. “I thought we’d be strong enough.” 

“No, Der-ek,” Stiles said, drawing out his name annoyingly. “You thought you would be stronger with them. You didn’t think that they could be used to break you. You didn’t think that you’d treat them like such shit, they’d run away. That you’d find her _dead_. That it would be your claws in his chest.” 

Derek half growled at Stiles. “Are you done?” 

Stiles shrugged his shoulders. “For the moment.” Derek went to say something, and Stiles changed his mind. “No, wait. You wanted to talk about how this is going to work? There are going to be rules, Derek. Rules. Rule one: you keep them alive. Your _pack_. Alive. Safe.” Stiles kept going, even though he knew that Derek wanted to interject. “Rule two: you are _there_ for them when they need you. You show the fuck up, Derek.”

Derek looked like the wind was pulled from his angry sails after the second rule. “I’ve been there for them. I was always there for them.” Stiles flinched a little, but looked away as it happened. It was like Derek didn’t even know. 

“Right. Sure. Rule three: you listen to me.” Stiles didn’t look at Derek. He couldn’t. Derek didn’t know a damn thing. 

His words were met with a silence that lasted until it was edging on uncomfortable. Stiles had been about to give in to actually look back at Derek, when there came a subdued, “Okay.”

Stiles stood and turned away, heading for the door. “Okay,” he said as he pulled it open. It was just as heavy as it had always been. “I’ll be here, every time they are. My number’s the same as it always was. Don’t bother calling. Just text me a time and a place and I’ll be there.” He didn’t hear anything as he left, assuming that Derek was just agreeing in silence like he did when he didn’t want to agree to something, but didn’t really have a choice otherwise. 

\-----

The evening was already well under way by the time Stiles arrived. He still resolutely refused to refer to them as ‘pack meetings’. They were just gatherings of people, all of whom happened to look to Derek as some kind of quasi leader figure. 

It was always the same. Stiles would show up - usually the last one there - and throw himself down on the armchair in the back corner of the expansive loft space. The armchair that he’d actually specifically positioned in that very spot on purpose for that very reason. Then, he’d proceed to ignore the fuck out of everyone else.

He hated all of them. Every single one. Deaton had been right, there were some familiar faces. They weren’t faces he necessarily wanted to see, but Stiles knew them. Cora was there, still looking like a younger version of Derek, just as much of an ass. He’d had a flash of her sick, talking to her while they were in the ambulance, thinking that he might like her. Stiles pretended none of that happened when he saw her. Just another person that left when things got sticky. Just like her brother. Her brother who barely came back. 

There was Peter - who usually sat on the stairs in the opposite corner to Stiles and took no part in the proceedings at all. Stiles wondered why he even bothered to turn up. 

The strangest was Isaac and Jackson, who apparently came as a duo now. Despite Stiles’ wishes for Jackson to die in a fiery plane crash on his way back from Europe like the Brand New song, Jackson was alive, well, and a total douche. He and Isaac had bumped into each other somewhere on their travels and buddied up. Stiles would have loved to accuse them of dating, but Isaac seemed to both adore and hate Jackson equally and the same went for Jackson. Stiles knew he hated both of them, Isaac for being a traitorous asshole who abandoned Scott’s pack to go back to Derek of all people and Jackson just for being Jackson and obviously having learned nothing about being a decent person. 

Then there were the Other Two, as Stiles had dubbed them. Sophia and Karl - remnants of the old pack who’d stuck around after Derek had killed their alpha. They’d taken an immediate dislike to Stiles and he’d made absolutely no moves to try and correct whatever ideas they had about him. He wasn’t here to make himself liked. He’d liked the people in Derek’s previous pack. It just meant it hurt more when they died. Stiles couldn’t do that again.

All in all, they glared at him, all of them, and he sat in his chair, watching them talk about nonsense. The new topic was challenging Derek’s authority on something or another, or some pack boundary not being where people wanted it to be. Isaac and Jackson were pissed that some place they liked to go to was in Scott territory and the Other Two seemed to think Derek should just take it. Or something close to that. Honestly Stiles hadn’t been paying attention. He’d heard voices and tuned most of them out besides the occasional word here or there. He should have brought a book. “He’s not challenging Scott,” he piped in as Derek tried to say something about something or another. 

Isaac glared across at Stiles for a moment, then looked at Derek, tilting his head and arching a brow. “Why is he even here?” the curly haired man asked, sounding very much like Stiles’ presence was a personal offence.

“He shouldn’t be here. Especially not for this,” Other Number One - Sophia - agreed. “Scott’s his friend, right? He should be no part of territory discussions. He’ll take word back to the other pack before decisions have been made.”

Stiles said nothing. He simply looked toward Derek, his face an open picture of innocence which only added to the discomfort writing all over the alpha’s expression. Stiles waited, adding the smallest of smirks. He knew the outcome of this already - it would go the way it always did when anyone questioned his presence.

“Stiles stays,” Derek ground out, finally, as though the response had been physically forced out of him.

“I stay,” Stiles agreed, leaning back in the armchair and draping his legs over one of the arms. “Carry on, carry on.”

The Other Two gave him a look, as if glaring at him might make him go away, but when it didn’t they turned back to Derek. “We shouldn’t bow and cower to that pack. We’re stronger. You’re stronger,” Karl insisted. 

“It’s not a matter of strength,” Derek grumbled. “It’s just not going to be done because Isaac and Jackson are antsy.” 

“Pick another Starbucks, hipster,” Stiles told Isaac. “There’s three in town.” 

“Shut up Stilinski,” Jackson growled. Now that he growled it was worse. He’d been annoying before, but now he was growling and annoying. It made it ten times worse. 

“It’s stupid that’s all. Tell them Derek.” The alpha gave him a look, one that clearly said shut up, but Stiles ignored it. “There was an agreement,” Stiles pushed.

“An agreement entered into when the alpha was still adjusting to his position,” Karl growled, taking a step toward Stiles. “When he was still used to being beta to McCall. Now is the time for things to change, for us to show our strength and cement our position here, otherwise they will think us weak.” Karl took another step toward Stiles, only to find Derek suddenly there, standing in between Stiles and Karl, blocking his way. Stiles couldn’t see Derek’s expression, but he was willing to bet he was doing some kind of annoyed eyebrow semaphore. The man didn’t have to speak to make his opinions known.

Derek and Karl seemed to engage in a momentary standoff, then Karl took a step back, dropping his eyes from his alpha’s face, before turning away and stalking off to the other side of the room. Stiles grinned - another point to the Stilinski. He was awesome at this. He had his… He had Derek entirely under control. Derek turned in time to see the grin and his glare narrowed at Stiles. That just made Stiles grin more. 

“We won’t look weak,” Derek finally said, his eyes still on Stiles. “Weak is not the point. I’ll talk to Scott. See if he's willing to consider re-drawing lines. Otherwise do as Stiles says Isaac. Make nice with Scott and his pack or find somewhere else to spend your time.” 

Do as Stiles says. Yes. He was completely awesome at this. 

\-----

The meetings went on like that. The same thing, again and again, the wolves pushed at Derek and Derek tried to get them to calm the fuck down. And Stiles said his piece and while it pissed everyone off, Derek defended his right to be there. Hell, Stiles was part pack even if he didn’t want to be. 

“Stop defending him! He’s not even supposed to be here!” Sophia was yelling, growl in her voice, hands shifted to claws. There were other growls in the room and Derek’s eyes were flashing red. 

Stiles stayed in his chair, as always. This had happened before. The pack would question his presence, or get pissed with his sarcastic turn of phrase. Sometimes, Jackson would interject his theory that Stiles and Derek were fucking - it was always hilarious to see Derek’s expression at _that_ particular comment. In the end, Derek would do nothing - he’d just stand there and take it. Of course he would, because the man was being a good little pup and playing by Stiles’ rules, because Stiles knew best. Not that it was hard, knowing better than a fuck up like Derek-playing-alpha. No, Stiles wasn’t concerned.

Which was why he missed the first swipe, as Sophia launched herself, fangs and claws bared, to bodily attack her alpha. There was a snarl and the sound of a body impacting hard on the floor and it was then that Stiles looked up from his book.

Sophia was laid out on the floor, Derek’s claws gripping into her neck, four points lined up along her jugular as he stood over her. His foot pressed into the small of her back, keeping her down as the fully wolfed out alpha snarled at the other wolves in the room, daring them to do anything.

Despite the way that Derek glared at them, enough that even Stiles had sat up in his chair a little more, Karl leapt. It should have been enough for all of them to stand down, to be afraid. But Karl attacked. He barrelled into Derek, a roll of claws and snarls. Derek mastered him as well, rolling until Karl was under him, head bouncing back against the floor, scratch on his cheek from Derek’s claws. 

Derek rolled off of him, kicking Karl back into Sophia where they both sniveled and grumbled. 

Stiles hadn’t realized he’d dropped his book. 

For a long moment, no one breathed. No one said a word. Derek shook away his wolf face, eyes still red for a moment more. “Go.” 

That was enough of an order for the room to clear out, Karl and Sophia following after Isaac as he pulled them towards the door. Peter was the last one out, an unreadable expression on his face. That just left Stiles. 

“What was that?” he asked Derek, glaring at him. 

“Get out Stiles.” 

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

“I do tonight.”

“Tell me what that was, Derek,” Stiles pushed. There was a trickle of blood down the right hand side of Derek’s face, running from his hairline to his scruff. As Stiles watched, the alpha rotated his right arm and there was a sickening crunch as he popped his dislocated shoulder back into place.

“It was a challenge,” Derek said, darkly. “To my authority as alpha. They see me as weak. Unfit to lead. Karl and Sophia had it in mind to replace me.”

Stiles stilled, the blood draining from his face. “But…”

“But they didn’t.” Derek turned, eyes falling on Stiles. “Why are you still here?”

“Because we’re having an important conversation.” 

“We aren’t. There’s nothing to talk about. It was what it was. I handled it.” 

Stiles moved closer, looking at the side of Derek’s head. “You handled it, but you’re bleeding.” 

“It’ll heal.” Derek moved away. “Just like this will. Go Stiles.” 

Stiles stood, rooted to the spot for a moment, his mouth gaping. He’d never seen pack infighting like this before. Sure, he’d seen a beta take the power of an alpha - he’d been there when Derek had ripped Peter’s throat out and done just that seemingly a lifetime ago now. Yet this felt different, more unstable. Derek could have _died_ tonight, and Stiles hadn’t even seen it coming. He’d been entirely helpless, and the danger had been from within the pack itself.

He couldn’t have that. He couldn’t have a situation where he didn’t know what to do. 

Without another word, Stiles turned and left. That night, he threw himself into his books. He’d found another gap in his knowledge and he needed to fill it.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles hadn’t slept in two days and he hadn’t drunk this much coffee since his freshman year of college. He’d showered - just - and changed into fresh clothes, but he had his laptop under his arm and a backpack full of notes when he walked into Deaton’s office.

“Hey! Deaton - you here?” he asked, walking through to the back without stopping. It was late in the day, and he didn’t hear the sounds of any actual clients around. The place was locked and the counter was up, so he doubted there was anything untoward going on. He needed to see the older emissary though - he didn’t have a good enough answer to the pack issues and his brain wouldn’t allow him to rest until he’d solved the problem.

Deaton was in the back, already holding up a hand as Stiles arrived, golden retriever on the table in his clinic, whimpering softly as Deaton rewrapped a bandage on its hind leg. “Just wait until I’m done. Then we’ll address whatever issue you’re having.” 

“Who says I’m here with an issue?” 

“Because you, Stiles, are a much easier read than you think you are,” Deaton said before going back to his work. Stiles didn’t like that answer, but he waited, trying not to fidget too much while he did so. Once the dog was set and put back in it’s crate for the evening Deaton came back to him, patient tone in his voice. “So what’s wrong with your Alpha?” 

Stiles’ cheek twitched slightly. “He’s not…don’t call him that.” 

“Why not? Is it not the case? You are the emissary to his pack, that makes him your Alpha - or do you see it another way?” Deaton asked his, making Stiles squirm a little under the assessing gaze.

“Well, technically, yes it does, but it also makes it sound like we’re dating, or I belong to him, or… something. So, just… don’t put it like that, okay?”

Deaton inclined his head a little, but Stiles got the definite feeling that it wasn’t in any kind of agreement to do as he asked. “Nevertheless,” Deaton said, continuing on. “There _is_ a problem?”

“Two of the pack tried to attack him. Earlier this week.”

That got Deaton’s attention as the older man’s expression turned from assessing to alarmed. “Two of Derek’s own pack?” he questioned.

“Yeah - the two who were left from the original pack. They attacked him. Derek said it was a challenge. He - they didn’t get far, but…I didn’t know that kind of thing happened!”

Deaton leaned back against the table in the middle of the room, something Stiles didn’t like. He was getting better about being here, but in the evenings, when it was kind of dark and Deaton leaned against the table like that he saw himself with Kira’s sword shoved into Scott’s stomach. Sometimes he could still feel his hand twisting it even though it hadn’t been him moving his hand. Stiles shook the memory away as best he could. “It does happen. It’s how packs work. Or at least how they evolve. I wouldn’t have expected this to happen so soon for Derek. They must not see him as a good leader. What else was going on?” 

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention. They were yelling about me I guess, how I didn’t belong there because I wasn’t pack. And she jumped. Then after Derek put her down, Karl attacked.” 

“Why were you there, Stiles?” Deaton asked, a question that confused Stiles. It hardly seemed to be the point - they were talking about Derek’s being attacked. They were talking about the fact that Derek could have been _killed_. Not about why Stiles had been quietly reading a book in the corner at the time, as though this were some kind of game of Clue.

“I was there because I’m always there,” he said, as though this were self-evident. Stiles’ confusion only grew as Deaton’s eyebrows rose at the news.

“You always attend pack meetings?”

“They’re not… I always attend pack everything!”

“Why?” Deaton’s question was asked quietly, but with a weight of authority behind it, as if it were the most important thing in the world that he get an answer.

“Why not? Someone has to tell Derek what to do. Why wouldn’t I be there?” Wasn’t that the whole freaking point of Stiles being his Emissary? Why would he be the Emissary if he wasn’t at stuff, just observing and helping out?

“Is there something going on between you and your Alpha?” 

“What? No. Why would you ask that?” 

“I’m trying to figure out why you’re at every meeting. You aren’t there to tell Derek what to do.” 

“But, you said…”

“I said you were there to advise your Alpha,” Deaton said, firmly cutting Stiles off mid-argument. “How often did you ever see me at Scott’s pack meetings?” 

“Never, but…”

“Exactly. Scott came to me when he needed guidance. When he needed _help_. Other than that, Scott made his own path. _I_ am not the alpha. And neither are you.”

“Scott is competent! Scott doesn’t get his betas killed!”

“And you think that you will make things better by making your Alpha look weak?”

“I don’t...what?” Stiles floundered for a moment, staring at Deaton. “I don’t make him look weak. He’s Derek.” 

“And if you can tell him what to do, who’s to say that they won’t feel like they can to. Advise Stiles. You aren’t there to tell him what to do.” 

“It’s the same thing!” 

“It’s not even close.” Deaton has that look, the one he only gets every so often when someone gets under his cool, calm exterior. “You let him come to you. Or you drop in on him every so often. You don’t make yourself a figure at pack meetings that bosses him around.” 

“And when he screws it all up? He will, you know! He’ll make the wrong choice, or his priorities will be fucked and he won’t be there to do what needs to be done and it’s not him that will suffer!”

“You don’t think your Alpha suffers if people are hurt because of his bad choices?” Deaton retorted.

“No, I think he just carries on. The way he always has. He never looks back.” Stiles held himself hunched, closed off. He had been telling himself that for years now, yet never could he get it to ring entirely true. Every time, he flashed back to Boyd’s death. To the way Derek had been so broken. There had been a reason that Stiles had run to him that day.

Deaton sighed, pushing himself up from the table. Crossing to Stiles, he put a comforting hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I don’t know exactly what happened between you and Derek, but I do know he trusts you. What you need to learn to do now is to trust him in return. Let him come to you. Let him seek your counsel. Give him your advice and opinions - but allow him the freedom of making the final decision. And, more importantly, let his pack _see_ him make that decision. Only then will they trust him as well. That is how you keep them all safe.”

Stiles sighed, wanting to pull his shoulder away, but it was a nice touch. People didn’t touch him much anymore. Not like they did with one another. “So I just...let him have at it until it all falls apart again?” Stiles didn’t feel good about that, but he also understood the logic behind what Deaton was saying. 

“He’ll come to you before it all falls apart. Like I said, he trusts you.” Deaton seemed so sure about it, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder before letting go. “You’re a guide Stiles. Not the director.” 

It was a terrifying idea - that he had to let go. Stand back and watch, knowing that if Derek didn’t act as Deaton predicted, Stiles would be entirely helpless. That was a feeling he’d been running from for years now. Now, apparently, he had to face it.

Stiles swallowed against the sick sensation rising up. “I’ll try,” he said, hoarsely.

\-----

Stiles picked the phone up one ring before it went to voicemail. He already knew who it would be. 

“ _Where are you?_ ” Derek’s voice sounded clear down the line and Stiles told himself that he couldn’t hear an edge of worry in the alpha’s tone.

“I’m at home,” Stiles said, mildly. He flipped the phone onto speaker and carried on typing. He was researching a new case and he had some pretty good leads going.

“The meeting was supposed to start a half hour ago - why aren’t you here? Is everything okay?” 

“Everything’s fine. I’m working. Go ahead without me - I’m not coming to the meeting.”

Stiles could all but hear Derek’s jaw go tighter on the other line. “Why not?” 

Doing his best to seem casual, Stiles kept typing and did his best to keep his voice steady. “You don’t need me there. You’re fine. Go have the meeting.” 

“But…” Derek started and Stiles shook his head even if Derek couldn’t see it. 

“No buts. Look…” Stiles didn’t want to say what came next, but he had to, he knew he did. “Text me when it’s over. I’ll come by and we can talk.” 

“O...kay,” Derek said, slowly. Stiles knew he was finally accepting the fact that he was on his own.

“I’m hanging up now,” the younger man said, doing just that. He couldn’t have stayed on the line any longer. He would have taken it all back. Throwing his phone onto the bed, he leaned forward into his computer. At least he had the case to distract him from thinking too much about the mess Derek was probably currently making of things.

The hour and a half passed faster than Stiles would have thought, but that probably was something to do with sheer force of will to not focus on if Derek would let him know whether he was dead or not. The text finally came. Stiles hesitated before getting up to get the phone, abandoned where he’d tossed it. He waited a full three minutes more before he picked it up, expecting it to be Derek telling him that he could come over. Or that everything was fine and he didn’t need to. Pulling up the message he read it twice before he fully processed it. 

_On my way over. Be there in ten._

Well that wasn’t really the goal. 

Stiles looked around his room, bed unmade, boxes piled in every corner because it didn’t really count as moving back in with his dad after college if he never unpacked. Eventually he was going to get an apartment and this stuff would already be packed. It would be easier. Everything else didn’t look that far off from high school. The case that was taped up on his wall was just the current one. Everything else was exactly the same. 

He thrust his dirty clothes into the hamper as he heard a knock at the door downstairs. Clearly some things did change, if Derek was willing to use the front door now. There were muted voices as his dad answered the door, then footsteps on the stairs. Stiles opened his bedroom door just as Derek raised a fist to knock, leaving them both standing there, awkwardly.

“I would have come down,” Stiles said, taking a step forward, just as Derek did the same thing.

“Your father told me to come straight up,” Derek said, as they both swayed backwards, like some weird parody of a dance.

“Fine - come in then,” Stiles said, finally letting go of the door and stepping back into his room, self-consciously rubbing at the back of his neck as Derek’s gaze took it all in.

“Are you moving?” he asked, looking back at Stiles.

“Yes. I mean, no - not right now. But, I will be. Sometime. I’m gonna get my own place. It’s just… I haven’t exactly gotten round to looking yet.”

Derek gave Stiles a skeptical look, as if not getting around to looking wasn’t a very good excuse. Stiles was still rubbing at the back of his neck, not sure what to say and at least Derek didn’t look sure about where to sit. 

“How’d the meeting go?” Stiles asked, trying to fill the quiet between them, drifting the towards the bed to sit. 

“Better than the last one,” Derek said, but not giving much more than that. 

“No more trouble from The Other Two then?” Stiles asked him.

Derek finally made a decision and sat on the desk chair. “They have names, you know.”

“I know, I just prefer not to use them.”

“Why do you hate us all so much?” Derek asked, with a suddenness that shocked Stiles.

Stiles’ legs gave out a little as he dropped to sit on the bed. “Lots of reasons. Who do you want me to start with? Jackson’s a dick and hasn’t changed. Isaac’s a traitor. And he was hooking up with Allison so I’m sure I can hate him for that too.” 

Derek held up a hand, cutting Stiles off. “Why do you hate me?”

Stiles levelled a glare at the alpha. “You should never have been in this position,” he said, not even attempting to deny the nature of his feelings for Derek.

Derek looked confused at first, but after a moment it faded. “As alpha? No. Probably not. But I made a choice and it was the best outcome for everyone.”

“Tell that to Erica and Boyd.” 

“Don’t bring them up Stiles. This is not the same. I’m not the same.”

“It’s exactly the same,” Stiles retorted. “There was a plan, but yet again you fucked it up. On purpose. Just like before, Scott was meant to kill the alpha and just like before you decided to do it instead. You decided to take that power because you’re a selfish son of a bitch who doesn’t care if you can’t handle it. You should have let Scott handle it this time. You should have let Scott do it last time.”

“That was different!” Derek protested, clearly on the edge of losing his cool.

“Was it? You denying that you were entirely selfish when you killed Peter? That you decided that you wanted to become an alpha, rather than letting Scott go back to his life?”

“Yes. No. I…” Derek growled in frustration and got up from his chair, starting to pace across the room. “Yes - I did it for selfish reasons, but it wasn’t all about the power. With Peter… I’d been going to do it. I’d been going to let Scott kill him, but I couldn’t.”

“Because you decided you wanted to be an alpha.”

“Because I didn’t want to be alone!” Derek roared, rounding on Stiles, his eyes flashing red for a moment, making the younger man flinch involuntarily. Derek clearly got ahold of his temper, taking a long breath before continuing, “Kate Argent killed most of my family. Then my uncle Peter lured my sister back to town so he could kill her too. Peter had to die and he was the last of my family. The last werewolf I even knew, apart from Scott. If I’d have let Scott kill Peter then he would have gone back to being human and I would have been alone. I’d never been alone. Not truly.” Derek looked across at Stiles. “You have to understand, I don’t see the bite the way Scott did. I was born like this. I see it as a gift, not a curse. I didn’t truly understand why Scott would want to give it up. So, yes, I was selfish - but it wasn’t about the power.”

“Cue the Lady GaGa song,” Stiles grumbled because he couldn’t help it. That hurt though, because if anyone understood being alone it was Stiles and it was partially Derek’s fault. Derek hadn’t shown up when Stiles needed him. “None of that justifies you doing the exact same thing again. You ran out there and took it. Why, so you could have your own pack? You had a pack! A pack that loved you despite my better judgement.” 

“Why do you hate me?” Derek repeated. “‘Against your better judgement’? You don’t hate me because of what I did. You were already there. I don’t understand what I did to deserve that. You and I... I thought... that once we understood each other, at least.”

Stiles didn’t look at him. He couldn’t. Why didn’t Derek just know? Why did he have to tell him? Didn’t that make it worse? He crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought we did too, but I had you wrong. I thought you’d be there when someone needed you and you would know when I needed you and you weren’t there.” He hadn’t meant to say ‘I’ and he didn’t even realize he’d done it. 

Derek tilted his head to the side and Stiles just barely caught it out of the corner of his eye. “When was I not there for you?” Stiles heard Derek sit down again, heard the desk chair roll closer to him and knew Derek’s knees were close to his. “I haven’t seen you in years. Not since…” 

“Not since I was possessed by an ancient chaos spirit with an axe to grind,” Stiles supplied for him. 

“Right. Since then. When did I…” 

“When you didn’t show up then!” 

"I was there, at the school..."

"You weren't there before then. You weren't there when I was killing people!"

"Stiles, that wasn't you!"

"It might as well have been. It was my body."

“You couldn’t control it.” 

“Which was why you should have killed me!” Stiles’ voice broke halfway through the statement, his eyes filling with tears. “You let them die. You weren’t there when I needed you. People died, so many people and I …” 

Suddenly, Derek was there and Stiles felt his arms wrap around him, pulling him in and holding him tight. He fought against it, trying to get away. He didn't want comfort, not from the object of all of his hurt and anger. It was too late - he didn't need Derek to be here for him now. It was five years too late.

Derek wouldn’t budge though and it wasn’t fair that Derek was so much stronger. Stiles kept pushing, not even realizing his breath was coming in sobs until he couldn’t bring his arms to fight back. “You never showed up. I kept waiting. I kept hoping that if Scott couldn’t do it, Derek could.” His voice was quiet, barely there. 

“I didn’t want to kill you. We were trying to find a way to save you,” Derek said as he continued to hold onto Stiles tightly.

“People were dying, Derek. Because of me.”

“Because of the nogitsune,” Derek countered

“I stabbed Scott.”

“The oni stabbed Scott.”

“I took hold of the katana and I twisted it. I looked into his eyes and saw the pain there. All day I had him running around, taking the pain from people whose injuries I caused, so I could feed off him.”

“That wasn’t you, Stiles. None of that was you.”

“I was there,” Stiles insisted. “I remember all of it. I was there. I was there screaming to get out, to make it stop. And when I did get free, it was still there. It still had my face.” 

Stiles felt Derek’s nose bump against the back of his neck, his breath there warm against the skin. “No one blames you Stiles.” 

“I blame me.” 

“You need to stop.” 

“You say that like it’s simple.”

“It’s not simple. It’s _never_ simple. Do you know how many years I lived, feeling like I killed my family?”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Stiles said without thinking about it. 

“And what that creature did wasn’t yours. Not anymore than what Kate did was mine.” 

Stiles shook his head, still leaning into Derek’s shoulder, having given up on trying to get away. “It’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not - but it’s not that different either,” Derek told him. “Kate wormed her way into my life. She used me to get access to my home. To find out about my family. If I had known what her plans were, if I had been able to stop her, then I would have. Instead, she waited until she knew that there was a pack gathering, she put mountain ash along every door and window and then burned them alive. I used to think that it was my fault, That if it hadn’t been for me then she would never have known. It took me year to realise the truth - that if it hadn’t been me, she would have found another way. It’s the same for you. If the nogitsune hadn’t possessed you, it would have taken someone else. Scott, Alison - hell, Lydia had already shown that she was susceptible to possession. It could have been anyone. That thing wouldn’t have just given up, if you weren’t available. It would have found another way.”

“But it picked me. Because of what I was to everyone. Who I was.” Stiles pulled back enough to look at Derek though he was still close and Derek’s arms were still there.

“Of course it did. It’s you. You're smarter, more connected to all of us. You’re the one who glues all of us together. Even when you weren’t really _here_ you were. It picked me too. Or you did. I wasn’t sure.”

Stiles shrugged. “It was afraid of you. Like you were the one to figure it out, or something. But you didn’t. I kept thinking you’d find me. If anyone could find me it’d be Derek and you weren’t even there.” 

“I tried to figure it out. I learned to play chess because of you. I befriended Argent, because if I was working with him then he wouldn’t be trying to put a bullet through your brain.” Stiles tensed at that, and Derek ran a soothing hand down his spine, continuing on before the younger man could say anything. “I know. I know now what you wanted, I know you think I was the one who could do that, but I could never have killed you, Stiles. I wanted to save you. I wanted to stop it, but not if it meant killing you. Not - not unless there was absolutely no other way. And only then if I knew for a fact that it would actually work. That the nogitsune wouldn’t have just been able to... slide to someone else. I never knew enough to be able to make that call. Then you were there and it was wearing your face and you had a plan and you didn’t need me.”

“I did...I wanted...” The words got stuck in Stiles’ throat and he pulled away from Derek and got off the bed completely, running his fingers through his hair. He was an adult now. An emissary. He could do magic, or whatever they weren’t calling it, he could advise an alpha, his Alpha and Derek had him feeling like he was seventeen again, staring at his walls trying to figure out what was so very wrong with everything wondering just what the churn of feelings in his gut were.

Before it happened, in those few small hours of sanity between the alpha pack scattering and his mind being possessed, Stiles thought that he and Derek had understood each other. That Derek got it, that they were finally friends, something and then...Derek left. Stiles didn’t see him again until he wasn’t looking out his own eyes. He’d been wrong about so much and now Derek being comforting like Derek never had been before was throwing him for a loop.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, and Stiles was grateful that at least the man didn’t try to follow him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed.”

“I shouldn’t have expected you to be,” Stiles said quickly. “It’s not like you didn’t have other things on your mind. I wasn’t...” Stiles trailed off into silence and it got so quiet he wondered if Derek left.

“I missed you, you know. When you went to school. I mean you knew that. But I did. It was weird not seeing you around. Kinda thought you’d head out to New York to be with Lydia.”

“We aren’t together.”

“Well, you’re not really with anyone else. Or at least not until now.”

Stiles frowned at that, looking over his shoulder at Derek. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Derek looked like it should be clear, but Stiles didn’t get it. “Me. I mean, the bond, or whatever it is. You’re not just loitering in the corner of a meeting. You and me.”

Stiles’ eyes widened and he spun to face Derek. “We’re not together! You... and me... It’s... _don’t put it like that_. Jeez, you make us sound like... I mean, comparing you and me to me and Lydia! I mean, that’s... I mean... It’s... I’m an emissary. You’re an alpha. My Alpha, only - not like that! Do you see anyone saying that Scott and Deaton are together? Nooooo. No. No they don’t. So, just... No, okay? Good. Fine. Right.”

For a flash Derek looked hurt, but just as Stiles registered it, it was gone. “I didn’t mean the part where you and Lydia were sleeping together,” he said, gruffness back into his tone. “Just that you’re close. That you talk to her. And Deaton doesn’t loiter at Scott’s apartment like you do at the loft. That’s why Jackson and Isaac think we’re together.” 

“Well, they’re wrong. We’re not even that close! And I’m not going to be loitering at the loft anymore, so they don’t need to think that at all,” Stiles proclaimed.

“You’re not going to be around?” Derek asked. Stiles felt a moment of surprise and confusion at just how lost Derek sounded when he said that.

“Well, no. I mean I’m not supposed to be in meetings. Not if you’re busy trying to be alpha and I’m getting in the way and you could get hurt or worse,” Stiles said, hoping that made sense because the way Derek sounded made him feel bad.

“Just because you’re not in meetings doesn’t mean you can’t be there.”

Stiles scowled. “I mean I’m not going to be there when everyone else is there. I saw what happened the other day. You were hurt because of me. That - that was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault Stiles,” Derek said getting up and moving closer. He didn’t look any older, not like Stiles knew he did. Derek looked almost exactly the same, just a slightly different shirt and jeans combination that matched the popular fashion, but everything else was almost exactly the same. “It was mine. I wasn’t handling things well. But you can still come by when no one else is there.”

Stiles didn’t move, didn’t even know how this had happened. Derek was exactly the same and Stiles was right back where he’d started. Like an uncertain teenager, bereft now of even his hated and anger. It was all just replaced by confusion. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Derek wasn’t supposed to be telling him what he could and couldn’t do. Until today, it had been exactly the other way around. Now everything was turned on its head.

Derek had a look on his face like Stiles should say something, but when he didn’t Derek just frowned more. “So, I was thinking of telling Sophia and Karl, that they shape up or ship out. They can accept me as alpha or go back to being omegas and get out of town.”

“I don’t like them,” Stiles said, taking the offer of moving on from the hard stuff for now.

“I got that memo, yeah,” Derek said, with a roll of his eyes that seemed to need his entire body to move with it.

“No, seriously. I know I have this whole… hate thing going with your pack, but most of it? Has a reason. Like, legitimate history. Jackson’s a douche, Isaac should have gone back to Scott if he was coming back to town…”

“You know he was in my pack first, right?”

“Sure, you were the alpha who turned him - and you were so _bad_ at that that he left you for Scott. Scott earned his allegiance from you. He deserves it.” Derek seemed to think about that statement for a moment, then gestured for Stiles to continue. “Peter… requires no explanation-” Derek nodded again. “-As for Cora? Jury’s out. Currently, she’s like a mini version of you, but hey, what’s a little bad attitude? My point is that everyone’s got a reason, other than The Other Two.”

“Other than you’re minded to dislike everyone and are prejudiced against them as a matter of course?” Derek suggested.

“No, like they give me the major wiggins. Like, seriously, just… Like creatures crawling up my back _I don’t like them_. Since, like, day one.”

“Wiggins?” Derek’s eyebrows flew up - he didn't really need to say the word to get that question out there. “That a technical term?” Stiles gave him a look - Derek was definitely not the funny one and whilst that might have been humorous, they had roles. Derek waved it away and motioned for Stiles to sit again. “Tell me more about it.”

Stiles sighed and dropped onto the bed and looking up at Derek, who thankfully took his chair again. Stiles wasn’t sure he could handled the whole ‘sitting on the same bed’ thing again, despite the fact that being held - no, comforted - had been nice. “Just a feeling. Like something’s not right. Like they’re not around for the right reasons.”

“They’re not around for the right reasons,” Derek confirmed, seriously. “They’re around because I killed their alpha and they don’t want to be without a pack. That leaves the with limited choices. They either give their allegiance to me; they try and get Scott to accept them; or they accept their new role as omegas and leave. Maybe try and find another pack. I’m their easy option. I’m a new alpha, so I’m more likely to be open to being accepting. Plus, I know the territory.”

“Why aren’t they the right reasons?”

“How would you feel if I killed Scott?” Derek posed. 

“I’d kill you where you stood,” Stiles snarled back, surprising even himself with the viciousness in his tone.

“That’s why they’re the wrong reasons. If they were loyal to their former alpha, then I’m the guy that killed him.”

“Then why are they still here? Why stick around? Why offer… anything to you?”

“Because they’re betas. Because they’re not strong enough to make it alone,” Derek said, with an air of someone trying to patiently explain things but getting frustrated at going round in circles.

Stiles frowned, making a face. This wasn’t exactly in his training when he’d gotten to this point. Then again, he’d not really expected to be assigned to an alpha who made a power play either. He always thought he’d get Scott. That would have been a hell of a lot easier. “Yeah well those two betas just almost kicked your ass the other night. You need to get them to thinking of staying for the right reasons or make them go. And don’t mention the part where you killed their alpha to get to be one yourself again. Actually don’t mention the first time.”

“That’s not why I killed their alpha.”

“Whatever, you said it was. Look I say send them packing. They want to take you down and if you’re not careful one of them is going to break protocol and shoot you first so you can’t get up when they attack.”

Derek growled, low in his throat, though quietly, as he knit his eyebrows together. “I need to give them the option,” he countered.

“Why - you said it yourself. They don’t like you. Worse: they probably resent you. They’re already tried to kick your ass once already. I say you have plenty of reasons to tell them to hit the road.”

“Not for them,” Derek said, looking the picture of unhappiness. “For the ones that are left behind.”

“Why? So they can know they can go up against you and they _won’t_ be toast?” Stiles asked with a snort.

“I don’t want to rule a pack by fear,” Derek said, with more feeling than Stiles had expected. The younger man blinked, thrown by the comment, though unable to quite figure out why. It just left a slightly unsettled feeling in his stomach, though not necessarily a bad one, as he listened to Derek continue, “I want to be respected. I want my pack to want to be there. I want them to know that, even if I have final say, they can express their opinions and it doesn’t have to be through violence, or ultimatums. I’m their Alpha - I have final say, but I want them to be able to express how they feel.”

“Learnt that from Scott, did you?” Stiles asked, more of a comeback than anything else. 

He was shocked when Derek simply said, “Yes.”

Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck, making his best thinking face. “Then talk to them. Just them. You and them. And maybe a tranq gun for backup or Jackson or something. Find out what they’re thinking and make them tell you. Tell them you want them to stay, though god only knows why, and then tell them they have a choice. Maybe they’ll choose to stick around. And if they, they go. Their choice.”

Derek listened, like he was supposed to listen, and eventually nodded. “You want to be there?”

Stiles shook his head. “Nope. They hate me more than they hate you. Probably best if I’m not around. I can come by though…” When no one else was there. That was weird wasn't it? Maybe. But it seemed like the best option.

Derek was quiet for a moment, then nodded, once. “I’d like that,” he said, quietly. “If you came over. After.”

Now it felt weird, Stiles decided. The tone Derek was using, the quiet-yet-serious way he was talking. Definitely weird. The younger man squirmed in his place, abruptly feeling like he didn’t fit properly in his skin. “Sure, I mean, great, yeah - I can totally do that,” he said, looking anywhere but at Derek. “I can come over, you can tell me how it went. We can, like, come up with emergency plans in case they decide to fuck off but won’t leave entirely - it’ll be a date... _great_. I mean great!”

Derek made a noise that sounded like he was trying to swallow a laugh before he got up, reaching out for Stiles’ head and resting his hand on it. “I’ll let you know when to come by.” There was a hint of a smile in his voice, but Derek didn’t smile really, so Stiles didn’t look up. He just nodded sheepishly and stared at his hands.

“Bye Stiles,” Derek said, then left, closing the door behind him. Stiles listened to the footsteps down the stairs and the muttered words to his father that seemed to go on for far longer than he would have expected. There was a laugh, maybe two. It was strange - almost like a conversation between friends. The front door opened, then closed and Derek got into his car and drove away.

Stiles had no idea what to think. Which meant only one thing. Reaching for his phone, he hit speed dial. He felt better the moment it connected and there was that familiar voice at the other end of the line. He threw himself back onto the bed with a smile. “Hey, Lydia.”


	4. Chapter 4

Lydia’s advice was supposed to be helpful, but it turned out to be more like her giggling at him and actually saying ‘I wouldn't have guessed Derek’. It wasn’t like she was thinking and she refused to listen to him, basing her conclusion solely on the fact that Stiles had called in the first place. It was an emissary thing. She needed to understand that, but she just laughed at him and reminded him to wear a clean shirt and maybe bring dinner. Or flowers. He'd hung up on her.

Of course when he climbed the stairs to Derek’s loft he did have dinner. And a clean shirt that Lydia had forced him to buy the last time he was in New York, which meant it _fit_ as she liked to point out, but he’d just liked that it made her stare at his arms when he wore it. So maybe yeah, he put it on. Derek wasn't the only one that could wear a black fitted t-shirt. Right?

What Stiles wasn't expecting was the low whistle from the bastard of a blonde leaning on the railing outside Derek’s apartment leering down at him. “Die Jackson. Just seriously, fire, plane crash. I had this whole plan where ‘Jude Law and a Semester Abroad’ was about you and it was awesome. You made out with guys and I got to wish you were dead the whole time.”

“I made out with guys? That’s your card or at least what it looks like you have in mind for the evening.”

Stiles could feel himself blush and he tried to pretend he wasn’t. “Jackson. Shove it. I will hit you.”

“And what is that going to do to me? Not a damn thing. But you carrying on shoving things in places.” Jackson laughed like he was the funniest thing in the world. 

“Aren’t you leaving? Get the hell out of here.” 

Jackson’s laugh abruptly ceased at Stiles’ growled words. The blonde’s eyes narrowed and he took a threatening step toward Stiles. “You don’t tell me what to do,” Jackson said, lowly. “You may be screwing my alpha, but you have no real standing in his pack. None. The sooner he sees that, the better. You’re holding him back, Stilinski. He needs to cut you loose.”

Stiles was caught between being hurt by Jackson’s words and knowing they were wrong. He didn’t even bother to correct him about the sleeping together thing. “I’m not bringing anyone down.” Not if he could help it. “And I’m not telling you what to do because I’m pack. I’m telling you what to do because you’re a douche. Now leave if you’re leaving.” 

Stiles stood toe to toe with the werewolf, staring him down. There was a long moment when Jackson looked like he was going to take things further, and the he ducked his head, backed away and headed down the stairs. Left behind, alone, Stiles wondered what the hell had just happened. Sure, he’d told Jackson to leave, but the guy had pretty much just fled.

Stiles waited until he heard the door to the building open and close before he moved again. That was too weird and maybe he was a little concerned that Jackson might change his mind and come back up the stairs and remind Stiles why he was the bully and Stiles was the target. Nothing happened though, which left Stiles staring at Derek’s door, stomach churning from the adrenaline from his run in with Jackson and definitely not just nerves in general. He smoothed his shirt once then let himself in, peeking around the door first. “Coast clear?” He called, hating that his voice didn’t sound normal. 

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek’s voice called out, but Stiles couldn’t see him yet. He let himself into the loft, pushing the door shut behind him and considering locking it. Not that anything would happen - it just seemed safer with an angry Jackson around. When he turned back to face the loft, Derek was there, staring at him like he’d never seen Stiles before. 

Stiles hesitated, shooting Derek a puzzled look. Then he rolled his eyes and headed into the loft proper. “I bought pizza. Pepperoni and ham with extra mushrooms,” he said, putting the box down on the low table in the middle of the room and grabbing a slice as he collapsed down into a chair. “And sure, yes, I’ll have a beer if you’ve got one. Then you can tell me all about how it went with The Other Two and I can remind you just how much of a douche Jackson is. Because, seriously, I can never stress that enough.” Stiles bit into the slice of pizza, tongue darting out to try and grab the trailing cheese inelegantly as he looked up at Derek.

Only Derek was staring at him. Full on, eyes-stuck-to-Stiles staring at him. Absently Stiles swatted at his face wondering if he’d wound up with more than just cheese on his chin. “What?” he demanded because for some reason Derek staring at him made the hair on the back of his neck stand up in the best but worst kind of way.

Derek finally dropped the gaze, shaking his head and going towards the fridge. “New shirt?” he asked, like he was trying to be casual. Now it was Stiles’ turn to stare at him.

“Sorta. Lydia picked it out. Something about how my clothes don’t fit.”

“They don’t. They could be mine.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I don’t have an endless collection of tiny tank tops and deep v’s. Trust me, they're my clothes.” Which sounded far more stupid out loud than it had in his head.

“What did Jackson say?” Derek asked, obviously changing the subject - as if the matter of Stiles’ wardrobe was something to be avoided. Still, he also handed off a beer, the good kind, and opened one for himself so Stiles let the subject drop.

“Thinks we're sleeping together again. Won’t shut up and everything I said to tell him to shut up he turned into an euphemism.”

Derek took a pull of his beer, not saying anything. Not that he usually said anything to the accusations. Most of the time he just looked annoyed, or put out, or like he might throw up, but that was it. For the tiniest of seconds Stiles’ mind tried to wonder why that was and suggested things that definitely were not the truth because it was Derek and despite their little hug and comfort session, he still mostly hated Derek. 

“It was weird though,” Stiles continued, talking to cover up his own thoughts, the way he always had done. “He was going and and on about shit and then suddenly just… left. Like - not to make an animal joke or anything, but… Kinda turned tail and ran.”

“What did you say to him?” Derek asked, cautiously, making Stiles immediately on guard. He wanted to know what was giving the alpha pause.

“Nothing. I mean, he was talking on about me and his usual line about how I suck-” Stiles held back from going into detail about Jackson’s claim he wasn’t pack. It felt too much like tattling. “-I told him to fuck off and stared him down and he just… left.”

Derek was quiet for a long time, moving to stare out of the window, not looking at Stiles at all. When he did speak, he didn’t turn around to do so, leaving Stiles staring at his back. “Jackson thinks we’re a couple. He’s… not great at letting a concept go. Nothing we could say would change his mind on that. But… because he thinks we’re a couple, that gives you… certain standing in the pack. Or would. In Jackson’s mind, if it came down to it, his Alpha would always pick you. He might push you. Might taunt you. But if it comes down to it, he’ll back down.”

Stiles felt his mouth fall open and was relieved that Derek wasn’t looking at him. “Yeah but, you’ve told him, you’ve told him were not. I don’t have that kind of power. I’m here for you and not as part of this pack.” Deaton had been clear on that front and even if that voice in Stiles’ head refused to shut the hell up about what that might mean, Stiles was sure of one thing, he wasn’t _with_ Derek.

Derek finally turned, face almost unreadable as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Told you. He’s not letting it go. It’s like he wants to be right.”

“But he’s not.” Suddenly Stiles needed to hear it. He needed Derek to say the words out loud like he was fucking Rumplestiltskin and it would make everything better.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s right or wrong it’s what he believes and his instincts are going to go with that.”

Stiles had to swallow a frustrated noise, but he wound up just just glaring at his pizza instead. Even Scott wasn’t this infuriating. Add it to the list of reasons why he hated Derek. Right up there with...well with whatever. He’d remember it later. “Well at least I know where I stand. And that you’d pick him over me.”

“You’re my Emissary,” Derek said, his tone low and serious and Stiles had to look up at him, eyes wide, mouth gaping.

“So?!?”

“So, I _will_ protect you. I _will_ keep you safe. I _will_ keep you from harm - especially from any of my betas.”

“But, but, but… we’re not together!” Stiles said, clearly flailing. Why couldn’t Derek just deny it and they could move on?

“Does it matter?” the alpha asked. Derek shrugged and finally turned away from the window. “I had to explain your sudden constant appearance at pack meetings somehow.”

Stiles’ mouth fell open again as he stared at Derek with wide eyes. “So you told them that we’re... That was the best option you could come up with?”

“So I never contradicted them when they assumed,” Derek confirmed.

“Why are they assuming it? You’re you and when half of them left I only had a mild precursory interest in dudes. And you don’t and if you did it wouldn’t be me and I hate you remember?” Stiles was babbling, but that was legitimately the only solution he had for what he’d been told. And the fact that Derek still wasn’t outright denying it.

Derek didn’t say a word, just reached for a slice of pizza like it was nothing. “What do you mean, I’m me?” he asked.

Of all of it, that was what Derek heard. Stiles shook his head slowly. “You’re Derek freaking Hale. You’ve got horrid, but hot taste in women and I wouldn’t stand a chance if this were real life and you were remotely close to interested or we were, and we aren’t so I’m going to shut up.” Stiles looked down at his shirt, pulling at the hem because it was shorter than he usually wore and felt like a moron for wearing it in the first place. He should have stuck with the Beacon Hills High lacrosse team shirt he’d had on before he changed to see Derek.

Derek’s jaw tightened as his brows lifted. “I’m Derek freaking Hale,” he deadpanned. “I have horrid, but hot taste in men too.”

There was no good explanation for the way the air went out of Stiles’ lungs when Derek said that. Not at all. For a moment he was sure he was going to pass out but then the air came back in a damn gasp, which made him feel like more of an idiot. One glance at Derek said that that moment hadn’t stretched out for as long as it had seemed and he’d just _gasped_ at his admission. “Yeah, well - could have told you Jackson was a dick before you flew him back from Spain or wherever he was.” Not that Stiles could see Derek with Jackson beyond the war of who had better cheekbones or jawlines, but it was better than assuming that really obvious answer that could not be right. No. Way.

“Jackson’s not my type.”

“Jackson’s everyone’s type.”

Derek quirked a brow. “Even yours? Because you’ve been pretty vocal about the fact you’re not into him.”

“Okay, not mine, but...”

“So he’s not mine either,” Derek said with a sense of finality that ended that line of reasoning.

“Isaac then? Though you know, I get waiting until he was eighteen, but he was probably less emo back then. If Isaac does a stage of less emo.”

“Stiles.”

“I saw he’s still rocking the scarf. Like he went on study abroad and turned into some proper eurotrash. I went on study abroad and mostly just got sloshed between breaking into archives like I was Hermione Granger...”

“Stiles.”

“I can’t see you with The Other One Two. No offense. He’s just sort of there.”

“Stiles.”

“You can keep saying my name like that, but I’m not going to shut up.”

“Stiles - I’m not asking anything of you. I’m not expecting anything. It’s okay, you don’t have to have some kind of meltdown panic thing. It’s clear. This. You’re my Emissary. That was the deal. I’m not trying to change that.”

Which was pretty much all the confirmation Stiles needed, without Derek coming out and saying the words. Which he didn’t need to. Stiles could gap fill and, really, it was easier if they just stayed unspoken because this was enough of a shock as it was. Stiles was staring. He knew he was staring. A half eaten piece of pizza hanging from one hand, beer forgotten on the table.

Derek watched him for a moment longer then got up to get Stiles a plate and set it down under the piece of pizza. The movement was enough to pull Stiles back to the land of the living and speaking.

“I’ve been gone for…”

“Five years if you count your senior year in high school. Which I do,” Derek supplied. “And when you were here you didn’t see anyone but Deaton because no one else knew you were in town, or your dad for holidays and breaks.”

Stiles stalled a touch, surprised that Derek knew all of that. That he knew all that and _still_ had managed to let Stiles down though fueled the anger that Stiles desperately needed to get through the moment. “Right. And there's the part-”

“Where you hate me. I know.”

“So... why? Why now? Why not then? I mean really?” Stiles let the pizza drop on the plate, glaring at Derek.

“Nothing’s changed for me, Stiles,” Derek said, his voice and look steady in a way that just made things worse. It was like Derek was a rock. A hard, solid, impassable object that Stiles was just going to break himself against and he couldn’t deal with that. He needed Derek to break. He needed to tear him down and cast him aside and he wasn’t allowed to just… Come out with this stuff.

“Five years?” he asked, tightly, his hands balling into fists. “Five years and you never said a damn word? Five years and you never even came by to even check on me after that thing was dead? You couldn’t even just… There was _nothing_ , Derek. It was like you ceased to _exist_!”

“I didn’t know what to say. I did check on you, through Scott. And I could tell you wanted to be alone. You didn’t want anyone coddling over you or telling you everything was going to be okay when clearly it wasn’t.” Derek’s tone stayed even despite the fact that Stiles was yelling. “I’m no good with that sort of thing. Even less so then. Then you had Lydia and you seemed... happy. You got what you wanted and I didn’t want to get in the way. Then you moved. When was I going to say something?”

Stiles stared at him, his heart beating so fast he thought that it was either going to jump right out his chest, or he was going to collapse with some kind of a coronary. He couldn’t take his eyes off the older man, and he was sure that he was as pale as if he’d seen a ghost. Time seemed to freeze and then, all of a sudden, everything caught up with him. He was on his feet before he knew it. “I - I have to go,” he muttered, already halfway to the door. He heard Derek call his name, but he didn’t respond. He was at the door, fumbling for the catch. Pulling it open, he gulped down air, as if there had been none left in the room as he stumbled out of the loft and down the stairs.

Derek didn’t follow him. He heard his name called again, but the werewolf didn’t follow him. As Stiles fumbled for his car keys, he absently wondered if Derek would ever follow him. What did it actually say that he would always just let him go?

\-----

Stiles was rambling about a case, pointing to the lines he’d drawn on the white board that his father had balked at buying for his office. The Sheriff liked his old fashioned bulletin board, but time were moving on and if it was time to go up a half century in technology. So, Stiles had forced the issue and now insisted on using the whiteboard at every given opportunity. Especially now, when he was gesturing at things. Or, at least, he was until his father plucked the blue marker - which was Stiles’ current thinking color – out of his son’s hands and was now staring at Stiles very much less like the co-workers they were and more like his father.

“Everything okay Stiles?”

Stiles hated when his father asked that question. For so long his father had asked that and he had needed to lie because his father knew nothing about the wolves or what Stiles was doing in his free time that wasn’t lacrosse. Then again later, when the Sheriff did know and he’d seen his son not be his son and the concern of him being possessed seemed to always be there. It had certainly taken the pressure out of coming out to his father, who had had a look on his face like he was going to find out that Stiles was a werewolf. ‘Bisexual’ was pretty much a walk in the park comparatively and what his dad had to say was nothing. Now here he was giving Stiles that concerned look again.

“It’s fine.”

“You do know that I can tell when you’re lying right?”

“That totally depends on your definition of lying.”

“We’re not having that conversation again.”

“Right, we’re not,” Stiles agreed. He fell silent, twisting his hands together - since he didn’t have anything to fiddle with any more - and thinking of the text conversation he’d had with Scott that morning. It had been an easy enough question he’d asked - whether Derek had actually checked on him in the wake of the nogistune. He hadn’t expected for Scott to not only confirm that Derek had, but to also add in that the checks had been regular and the only reason Scott had never mentioned them was because Derek had specifically asked him not to say anything.

“Son?” his father prompted, still with that concerned look on his face.

Stiles frowned. “Did Derek Hale ever check on me? You know... after?”

“Five years and you’re just asking me this now?” the Sheriff asked.

“Well, before now I figured the answer was a clear and obvious ‘no’. Since, y’know, I never saw him or heard from him and then I find out that he was all creeping round behind my back and having secret meetings with Scott and they were talking about me and I...”

“Yes,” the Sheriff said, cutting across Stiles’ rambling. “He’d come to the station to talk to me. He used to say that he didn’t want to bother you and that he understood what it was like - when things went really wrong. Though, I never really decided whether he was checking up on you, or whether he was checking up on me. We ended up talking a whole lot.”

Stiles was nodding along because it was just confirming what he knew and he was already at a level of surprised that he figured there was no way up. At least that was what he thought until his father said he and Derek were buddies. It was nice that Derek checked in on his dad but what did they have to talk about? “You did? Why?” 

“Why? Because he’s not a bad guy,” the Sheriff said with a shrug. “He was dealt a bad hand and didn’t always handle it well.” 

“You tried to arrest him for murder.” 

“Which he wasn’t guilty of. He’s not a bad man. And he cares about you so that wins him points in my book.” 

Stiles felt conflicted. He didn’t want to be hearing any of this. It was all so... completely contrary to everything he’d thought over the last five years. Five years where his main and often only focus was his quest to know everything there was to know about everything. Now here was this puzzle that was Derek Hale. He had decided five years ago that his belief that he had once known the man was wrong. Now he was beginning to think that he was even further off base with his high school assessment than he had ever thought.

“Is he what’s bothering you?”

Stiles didn’t realize he hadn’t said anything until his father spoke again. “Maybe,” Stiles said with a shrug, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. Nervous tick. He could almost see his father catalogue it. He’d always been able to pick up on those, but then again, the man had been taught how to tell if someone was lying.

“I thought you were working with him now?”

“I am,” Stiles said with a heavy sigh. “I just don’t understand him. What I know and what I think about him aren’t lining up with new information and I’m not sure why no one mentioned him coming around and asking about me in all the time it was happening.”

“Because everyone assumed you didn’t want to know.” Stiles looked confused and his father thankfully managed to cover most of his triumphant look at stumping his son. “You changed, after all of it. It was what we expected, I would have sent you into counseling if you hadn’t changed, but you changed. You cut yourself off from people and we took that to heart. You didn’t want anything to do with Derek, so why bring him up?”

“Because he was asking about me? Because he’d completely disappeared? Because people who you think are your friends don’t pull that kind of bullshit and what was I supposed to think anyway? Did you guys all think that I’d be all ‘boo hoo, Derek Hale doesn’t give a shit about me, I should keep talking about him because maybe that won’t make me sound entirely pathetic and instead I’ll find out that he does actually because people might actually _mention it_ ‘?” Stiles challenged, feeling that anger rise up again to match to utter confusion. It was an easy emotion to regress to and there was a certain comfort in the aggression.

His father stared at him for a long moment before speaking. He didn’t seem to react to the anger, just leaning back in his seat at he studied his son with his all but trademarked ‘cop stare’. Stiles knew that stare. And he knew that despite the anger in his voice, his father probably thought he wasn’t all that angry. “I really didn’t think you cared about him that much Stiles - though I will admit I never seem to know what’s going on in that brain of yours until you’re halfway through it.” He paused for a moment then continued. “Don’t you think you should be asking Derek about this?”

Stiles shook his head vigorously. “Nope. No - definitely not something I should be talking to Derek about. No siree, totally not necessary to ever bring that up,” he declared, as his father merely lifted his chin a little and raised his brows. Stiles knew he was fooling no one with the over-kill. He sighed and sunk down into a chair. “It’s like I’ve spent all these years thinking one thing and it’s not even true. Well, not totally true.” Though there was no way in hell he was sharing with his father that part of the reason that he had such negative feelings about Derek was because the werewolf had failed to kill him. That was something a father never needed to hear from his only remaining family.

The Sheriff leaned forward, elbows on his desk eyes locked on his son. “You know, I did the same thing too once. I was sure that my town had one too many animal attacks, but that was all they were. Then someone finally got around to telling me something they already knew, that the danger runs deeper and I’m looking at things I barely believe in let alone understand. And it took me a little while to deal with the fact that someone knew and never told me, but I’m glad I know now. I can do something about it.”

Stiles rolled him eyes, huffing. “That’s completely different, dad.”

“Is it?”

“Yes! It is - so, Derek’s not as much of a total dick as I thought he was, but that’s not on the same level as supernatural creatures being responsible for half the crime in this town!”

“It’s not on the same level, but it’s the same idea. And if it’s true and you were, god forbid, wrong about something, don’t you want to make it right? Or are you still a stubborn ass?”

“You can’t call me that.”

“I think I can. And I am. Go talk to him.” The Sheriff looked like he was waiting for Stiles to do something, but Stiles didn’t move. “Now. Go. You’re twitching more than usual and it’s making me nervous. Go sort that out.” His father actually shooed at him with one hand trying to get him to go away.

Stiles shot his father an unimpressed look, but headed out anyway. There was little point sticking around. He wasn’t convinced about the whole ‘go talk to Derek’ thing. Yet again, his father was back not knowing the whole story.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles made a frustrated noise as the lines he was drawing in the ground around the tree stump went awry and he had stomp them out flat again, rubbing at his chest. He could feel Deaton looking at him. He had brought the older druid out with him to help him with this spell (which Deaton refused to call a spell, like they weren’t doing magic) and Stiles kept screwing it up because he couldn’t think straight and his chest hurt.

“Is something the matter?” Deaton asked from where he was sitting on the stump like it wasn’t some giant host of power that was currently echoing a beacon across the country or farther trying to bring people closer to their little town. Stiles was a good ten feet away from it, which was as closer than he wanted to be, but he’d read about good border spells and he was hoping this would be something to slow down or quiet the beacon of Beacon Hills. “That sigil is the easy part of the border,” Deaton observed.

 _Spell_. “M’fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You’re rubbing at your chest and you’re messing up things you mastered before you were even training.”

“I’m aware of both of those things.”

“Then tell me what is concerning you, rather than avoiding the issue. If you avoid it, it really won’t go away, you know.”

Stiles sighed. He did know that. It just would be easier if it was actually true. Still, he vacillated before admitting his concerns to Deaton, and even then he downplayed them.

“Derek’s… into me, I guess. I think. Maybe.” 

Deaton raised an eyebrow at him. “You think.”

“I know. Mostly. He didn’t come out and say it, but there’s only so many ways you can talk around it before you’re at the middle of a spiral with only one starting point,” Stiles said going back to trying to draw the sigil in the dirt again.

“And you’ve been avoiding him because of how he feels.” Deaton was always the best at asking the question that wasn’t really a question, but he was also good at already knowing the answer. Because yes, among a million other reasons, Stiles was avoiding the hell out of Derek.

Stiles nodded, then fucked up the sigil again and gave up, sitting on the ground in a huff. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Well, you can’t do that. No wonder you can’t focus. Or well can’t focus more than usual.”

“You have a better idea?” Stiles challenged.

“Yes - deal with it,” Deaton answered, bluntly. “You have a role, one that it entirely separate from one party’s feelings. Emotion shouldn’t come into it. Especially if Derek is willing to work with the situation. _Is_ your Alpha willing to work with the situation?”

Stiles looked at his hands instead of Deaton. “You make that sound easy.” And one-sided, which it wasn’t entirely. Stiles was pretty sure he still hated Derek a little bit, but it was less than it had been and damn it if that stupid crush he’d had on Derek since the first time he saw him hadn’t reared it’s ugly head and put thoughts that didn’t need to be into his head, in his head. “And...yeah I guess so. He said something about working with it or my role not changing or something.”

Deaton gave him that long, hard look that just made Stiles feel like he had to fidget, or scratch something. Whatever - it was uncomfortable. “If your Alpha is willing to work past his feelings to create a relationship of trust and mutual responsibility, then it should not be a problem for you. You’re an adult now, Stiles. Sometimes we have to deal with situations that are less than ideal.”

“The situation is not less than ideal - it’s a disaster. You have no idea what it’s like and how he acts and what the pack thinks,” Stiles said in a flurry of words.

“Then, why don’t you tell me,” Deaton said, clearing a patch of fallen leaves a little way further out than they had been working previously.

“They think we’re sleeping together!” Stiles exclaimed. “And it’s, like… One moment they’re all over me, telling me I don’t belong and getting all up in Derek’s case about me being around and then the next moment they’re… I don’t even know! Backing down and acting like Derek’s looking over my shoulder all the time! And he just lets them act like that!”

Deaton hummed, thoughtfully, in a way that made Stiles immediately feel like the older man had all the answers, but just wasn’t sharing. “Derek lets them?” he asked.

“Yes! He just… They assume and he doesn’t correct them and I just…”

“What bothers you most? Their behaviour, or the fact that Derek allows them to act the way they do? That he doesn’t correct their assumptions?”

Stiles jumped to answer that, but he wound up just sitting there with his mouth open. He didn’t know the answer. Or well, he thought he did, but when he went to say it he doubted it.

“Stiles?”

He wasn’t speaking, which sort of ground their little argument down to a halt and Deaton was waiting on him to answer. Letting out a loud sigh Stiles went with the answer he knew was right and not the one that sounded better. “It bothers me that he doesn’t correct them and let’s them think that we’re together.”

“Is there a reason that you don’t correct them?” Deaton enquired.

“I do! I’ve said, like, a gazillion times that we’re not together, but they don’t believe me!”

“Why do you think that is?” Deaton said - which was an entirely unnecessary prompt, in Stiles’ opinion, given the answer was obvious.

“He’s their Alpha. They’re not going to believe me over him.”

“Correct. So, the question arises - why is he allowing his pack to believe a lie? Why allow them to believe that his feelings are returned?”

“How the hell should I know? The most he’s said is that it’s an easy way for him to explain why I’ve been around lately all of a sudden. That’s not a good reason.” Or it didn't feel like one to him.

Deaton stood and walked counter-clockwise around the expanded circle, ensuring that it was entirely free of leaves and other detritus. “Your Alpha is protecting you,” he said, slowly. “If it makes you feel better, you can blame it on his feelings for you. A werewolf, especially an alpha wolf, will always take whatever steps they deem necessary to protect those they care about, even if they do not appear to make sense on the surface.” Deaton turned to face Stiles once again. “By claiming, or at least not denying, a relationship with you, he gives you status. That of mate to the Alpha. In traditional wolf packs, the alpha mate has the same status as the alpha him or herself, regardless of their standing outside of that pairing. The analogy doesn’t… entirely hold true for weres, but it’s close enough.” Deaton caught Stiles’ shocked, blank look. “He’s lending you his status, Stiles,” he prompted.

Stiles’ shoulders slumped. “I don’t want his status.” Nor his protection, but Stiles couldn’t make those words come, just like he hadn’t been able to deny that hearing Derek say that he would protect him didn’t feel good. “Not if it means leading him on.”

Deaton kept at his work, clearing leaves. “I doubt Derek thinks that. The Hales are far more astute than their lack of words would lead someone to believe.”

“I never asked for any of this.”

“I doubt Derek was stopping to request your opinion,” Deaton observed. “After all, you are hardly the person who is oblivious to requests for permission.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stiles insisted. “He could have this time. Asked. Found out what I thought and if I wanted to be considered not in a relationship with someone I hate.”

Deaton arched a brow. “Does any of that fit in with the Derek Hale that you know?” he asked, doubtfully.

Stiles threw the other man a withering glare. “No…”

“Quite. Your Alpha is not the type to obtain your acquiescence to a plan he feels that you would not be able to provide an objective opinion on. By the same factor, however, he would not consider that your actions, one way or the other, would, in any context, be considered to be ‘leading him on’. Your actions are, in fact, simply your own.”

“So you’re saying that I just keep doing what I’m doing, let him lie about dating me, or not lie by omission of the truth, and we’re fine like that and it doesn’t end in some sort of giant mess?” Or end in Stiles to giving in to something he hadn’t wanted in a long, long time.

“I’m saying, Stiles, that you have to weigh the choices that your Alpha has made. You have to decide for yourself how you think and feel about them. In your opinion - divorcing yourself from how you think Derek should or shouldn’t feel about you - are his choices wise ones? If not, why not? And what could be done better? Objectively speaking, emotions can and should be compartmentalised. Consider the situation rationally and come to a rational conclusion. Why is a ‘giant mess’ inevitable?”

“Because I can’t-” Stiles stopped himself short before finishing the sentence.

“Can’t what?”

“Nothing. I’ll do that.” Somehow. Maybe. Stiles wasn’t sure he could take his emotions out of what Derek had done because his emotions were screaming at him to make sense of it, to take advantage of it, anything.

“If your Alpha can deal with his feelings for you, without asking for or expecting anything in return, then surely you can manage the same.”

Probably not. Stiles had never been great with emotions when it boiled down to it and he had a well of conflicting emotions about Derek. “Surely.”

“And you should see him. Not seeing him will make it worse. You’re bound, pulling on that binding makes it stretch and wear. You’ll hurt yourself and him.”

Stiles froze at that. “Wait. What? What binding? I mean - you talked about being bound, but I figured that was just some, y’know, whole thing about making a promise and sticking to it, but now you’re talking about not stretching the bond and that sounds far more like it’s something kinda real...”

“Why wouldn’t it be real Stiles? Of course it’s real. Just like everything else. You’re connected to Derek just like he is to you.”

“Does he _know_ this?” Stiles gaped. He couldn’t do, surely? Surely he wouldn’t have agreed to this if he knew?

“Derek is the son of Talia Hale. Whilst he was never raised to become the pack alpha, he - like all of the members of his family - had a working knowledge of the relationship between Alpha and Emissary.”

“So, in plain English then - he knew?”

“He knew.”

“And nobody thought to tell me!?!” Stiles exclaimed, running both hands through his hair and exhaling loudly.

Deaton cocked a brow. “I assumed that you were aware. Afterall, you appear to know much everything else,” he said, dryly. 

“Yeah, well, not this! I didn’t think they were talking literally! How? What? Is it… God, I don’t even know where to start here!”

Deaton gave Stiles a look that clearly said that he could start by finishing a sentence, but Deaton wasn’t really that sarcastic. “What concerns you the most about it?” 

“That it hurts,” Stiles insisted, rubbing at his chest again. “That he would agree to it given how he feels.” That he even thought it surprised Stiles, almost as much as the part where he said it out loud. 

“It doesn’t hurt if you don’t pull at it. You should see your Alpha regularly, even if it’s just to check in on his well-being. I was seeing Scott a few times a week when he was working with me and now he stops by often to check in.” Deaton paused, obviously considering his next words carefully. “As to why, you would have to ask Derek, but I think he knew you were the best choice. His feelings might have increased his willingness to take on the bond, but he knows how smart you are and what you’re capable of.” 

For days now, Stiles had been putting the growing discomfort and pain in the centre of his chest down to a bad burrito, or stress. Knowing the real cause - and that Derek was doubtless feeling the same way, didn’t help at all. “But… he knew how I felt about him,” Stiles countered.

“I don’t think he did.”

“Well, then _you_ knew - and you let him go forward anyway.”

“Options were limited, Stiles. Derek desperately needed an emissary. I had faith that the two of you could put your feelings aside and make this work.”

Stiles huffed out a breath, hating that Deaton was right. The choices were limited. Who else was there and given Derek’s past, who else was strong enough? “What if we can’t?” 

Deaton gave him the ghost of a smile. “Considering the challenges both of you have faced so far in your lives, I would be surprised if you failed at this,” he said, mildly.

Stiles gave Deaton a withering look before sighing. That wasn’t fair because yes, he and Derek had been through plenty, some of it together, but this felt harder. That might just be the ache in his chest though. “We’ll see then.” Stiles didn’t want to get his hopes up. 

“Your enthusiasm for the task is overwhelming,” Deaton deadpanned. “Now, should we continue working on the dampener, or would you rather take steps to dispose of the ache in your chest?”

“Those steps involve seeing my Al- Derek right?” Deaton didn’t answer beyond a look which was enough to get Stiles to his feet. “Then no, let’s finish this. This is more important.”

“You can’t avoid him forever.”

“I know - but that doesn’t mean I have to go running to his side right now. He’s a big boy. If he needs me, really needs me, he’ll call.”

“That’s true, but do you really want to leave it until the situation until it’s dire?” 

“He’ll call before then.” Maybe. Derek had avoided him for five years on the idea that Stiles didn’t want him around without batting an eye, but Stiles wasn’t going to focus on that. He was going to focus on the spell and do it right this time. 

It took three more tries, but he and Deaton finally managed it with minimal swearing on Stiles’ end. “Your will is getting stronger,” Deaton commented, as they lugged their bags back down towards Stiles’ faithful old jeep.

“Yeah, well, my dad always said I was as stubborn as a goat. Once I realised that I could actually do something useful with that - well, I guess at the end of the day it really just comes down to practice.”

“And natural talent,” Deaton added. “You have an affinity for it. Makes me wonder about the coincidences in your life of whom you’ve happened upon over the years.”

“I like the idea of my winding up with werewolves and banshees as best friends to be coincidence and not fate,” Stiles insisted.

“Not fate, but more something like a beacon. It's an interesting thought.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I thought that we agreed that the whole ‘beacon’ thing was dormant until five years ago? Plus, I was way born by the time Derek even went down to the nemeton with Paige!” Stiles was keen to stress that point. He was well aware that Derek was older than him - but not that much older. Not old enough to, well, it didn’t really matter, but Stiles always clung to that anyway. “And my parents are from Beacon Hills and well! We’ve been here for, like, always! No beacon-ing here for us, unless you think that my family line’s been brewing me for generations, in which case, wow we work slow and that beacon’s really not all that efficient, plus why a kid with ADHD. Why me?”

Deaton chuckled lightly. “I don’t mean the nemeton Stiles. I meant you. You’re the beacon. How else would all these people be drawn to you? I figure why not you. You’re smart, the ADHD seems to really be because you can concentrate on a million things at once and when you want to concentrate on something you can put more focus into it than people would believe. Though it does make sense that you’re a result of your family line.”

“Why? Why does that make sense? My dad’s a cop, my mom was a grade school teacher. Good people, sure, but hardly anything out of the ordinary.” In fact, until Scott had been bitten, the most out of the ordinary thing to have happened to Stiles had been the death of his mother.

“What do you remember about evolution?” Deaton asks instead of directly answering the question.

Stiles hated when he did that. “I know that it’s adaptation - a series of genetic mutations that make an organism more suited for its environment. Don’t tell me my family line evolved into this. Me. We did it wrong.”

“Did you? You're a powerful emissary with a powerful pack. You’re smart, talented-”

“Scrawny and sarcastic. I can’t be the one that breaks the mold.”

“Maybe you won’t. Maybe you’re just the start. Your children could be even better.”

Stiles laughed at that. “You’re assuming that I’m ever going to have kids. I’d say that’s a longshot at best. Come on, for starters I’d have to find a woman who was willing to have my children,” he snorted. He knew there was also the fact that there were at least even odds that he wouldn’t end up with a woman at all, but he wasn’t going to have an in depth conversation about sexuality with Deaton whilst they were tromping through the woods.

“I’m just not ruling anything out is all,” Deaton said. “But don’t sell yourself short. Derek wouldn’t feel the way he does about you, your friends wouldn’t, if you weren’t worth something.”

“I know I’m worth something-” The great thing about the word ‘something’, Stiles reflected, was that it didn’t have a specific quantity attached to it. ‘Something’ could mean ‘not much’ just as accurately as it could mean ‘the world’. ‘Something’ was a very useful word. “-I’m not trying to sell myself short. I’m just being realistic. They’re not lining up round the block to get with a sarcastic, skinny, highly antisocial guy who still lives with his dad and whose hobbies include directing his will to reshape reality, and avoiding getting brutally murdered. Oh yeah, and throw in a good dose of psychological damage in there as well.”

“Who has at least one person who cares about him, despite all of that,” Deaton pointed out gently. “I don’t think it’s your main concern now. I think it’s best to focus on your Alpha.”

“He’s not the only person who cares about me!” Stiles retorted, bristling slightly at the idea that it was Derek or nobody. He was still getting used to the idea that Derek had feelings for him - he didn’t need to add spotlight intensity to that.

“Of course not, Stiles.”

“Good, well then, fine,” Stiles said as they reached Roscoe and he threw the bags into the back of the jeep. Deaton gave him another one of those looks, which Stiles dutifully ignored as he got into the jeep on his side. “Fine.” He was repeating himself, he knew it, but it was the only response he had and for now it was going to have to do.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles was doing his best to convince himself that the pain and the frustration weren’t bothering him and he was mostly succeeding. The problem was, every time he got closer to feeling like he’d pushed it out of his mind - dealt with the dull ache in his chest - that ache got worse. It wasn’t sharp, just stronger. At one point it radiated out along his arms, to his fingers, leaving him feeling like he’d been typing too much when he hadn’t. Another time it was there, in his shoulders, tensing them up, drawing his panic levels up for no reason. He was stressed without being stressed.

Worse thing about it was that he knew how to fix it. He knew, just knew, that seeing Derek would make it easier. All he had to do was confirm his Alpha’s safety with his own two eyes and everything would be better. Except Stiles couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t bring himself to actually go to Derek, see him. Mostly he had good excuses to cover up his real reasons. Work needed to be done. There were cases that needed to be solved, even the cold ones. Spells and such that needed to be practiced or set up, in case someone needed them. There was also the fear, the one he would barely let himself think about, that kept him from going. The bond, as it tugged and pulled, made Stiles crave more than just Derek’s well being. It made him all but crave Derek and that couldn’t happen. Not at all. So he avoided all of it. Derek was fine. Derek would call if he was in real trouble.

Stiles threw himself into his work, and his research. He found out everything there was to know about the bond between Alpha and Emissary. There wasn’t much - just that it existed, and that it was stronger, the closer the pair was. The bond itself created a need to ensure the wellbeing of the other party, but it couldn’t create feelings that weren’t there. Rather it was the other way around - strong feelings and emotions would augment the bond, magnifying the connection.

He managed to avoid Derek for another three weeks until he woke one night in a cold sweat. Grasping for his phone, he saw that it was well after midnight. His heart was pounding like it would beat its way out of his chest and his hands were shaking so much that he dropped the phone at least twice before he managed to get the call to connect.

“ _Sorry, the number you are calling is unavailable. Please call back later._ ” Typical Derek - he hadn’t even bothered to set up a personalised message. Stiles rang the number again, and again. There was nothing. He let out a cry of frustration and dialled the one person he didn’t want to have to resort to right now: Lydia.

The phone was picked up on the third ring, a ruffle of sheets and linens before a voice he knew all too well answered. “ _Stiles. It's the middle of the night hon._ ” It was Lydia’s ‘trying to be patient because her best friend is a headcase and forgets about things like time zones’ voice. Stiles was far too familiar with it since the first time she used it on him in college, when he called her knee deep in an all nighter. The pet name just meant that she was more annoyed than usual.

Stiles ignored it and plowed through. “Lydia. I can’t find him. I need him. I mean...ugh it hurts. Help Lydia. Help, help help.” The last thing he wanted was to call her, but once her voice was there his resolve broke and he needed her as much as he needed Derek.

She was quiet for a moment before shifting and getting up, he could hear that and the voice on the other end ask her what she was doing. “ _It’s Stiles,_ ” she told whatever stranger was in her bed and Stiles was shocked that just his name was enough to shut the guy up. “ _What happened? Where did you lose him?_ ”

“I didn’t lose him. I… not really,” Stiles said, staggering out of bed and throwing some clothes on. “I haven’t seen him - it’s been a while. Too long, I know, but… You know. Then, I woke up and… something’s really wrong, Lydia. Can you, do you - I don’t know what to do.”

“ _Stiles - I’m two thousand, eight hundred and eighty four miles away from you right now. I know I’m pretty spectacular, but I’m not that good. Have you tried acting like a normal person and just, say,_ call him.”

“Done that - his phone’s off. His phone’s never off, Lydia!” Even if Stiles didn’t actually call him all that often, he knew little things like that. Derek had mentioned it, once. He liked to be in contact. He liked for people to be able to get hold of him in an emergency. Well, this was a frickin’ emergency and the wolf wasn’t answering his phone.

He could hear her swallow the sigh, knowing what that face looked like and knowing he knew her too damn well. Why couldn’t he have gone with her to New York? She wouldn’t be sleeping with strangers and he wouldn’t be in this stupid mess that required finding a shirt and a werewolf in the middle of the night. Why couldn’t he have just been in love with her? “ _Did you call Scott?_ ” she asked.

“I can’t call Scott. It’s not...it’s not Scott’s problem. It’s Derek’s problem and my problem and if he’s missing or hurt or something his pack’s problem.”

The line went silent for a moment. “ _Have you tried calling his pack?_ ”

Stiles pulled the phone away to glare at it like she could see him. “No. I called you,” he told her when he put the phone back to his ear. “I figured you’d be more helpful than Jackson and Euro Trash.”

“ _Don’t call Isaac names._ ”

“But you knew who I meant!”

“ _Yes - because we’ve had the conversation before where you call him names and complain about his outfits and I tell you to back off. Now, are we talking about your habits, or are you finding your Alpha_?”

“Don’t call him that!”

“ _It’s accurate. Live with it, sweetie. Call Jackson and if he gives you any shit, tell him that I said he might be taller than you, but you’re bigger where it counts. I have to go - Ivan’s waiting._ ”

“Ivan? Seriously? You’re sleeping with a guy named _Iv…_ and she’s gone,” Stiles said, as Lydia simply hung up on him. “Bigger where it counts is damn right,” he grumbled to himself as he flipped through his phone trying to find Jackson’s contact. It turned out it was under ‘Jackson’ and not ‘Douche’ or any of the other nicknames that had come to mind when he thought of Jackson. Apparently he’d been feeling professional when he set the contact. Or he couldn’t decide on what nickname to use.

Jackson actually answered the phone with a snarl. “ _I’m not coming over because you had a nightmare, Isaac,_ ” he growled and Stiles made a face at the phone again. This pack was so screwed up.

“It’s Stiles, Jackson. Where’s Derek?”

“ _I thought he was with you._ ” Jackson still sounded half asleep, but at least realized who he was talking to.

“Why would he be with me?”

“ _Because his phone is off and I figured you two made up or got back together or whatever and he didn’t want to be bothered._ ”

Stiles let out a harsh breath. “And we’re _still_ not together,” he growled.

“ _Yeah - we figured that you two split up. What with you suddenly disappearing off the face of the earth and Derek looking like someone not only kicked his puppy, but skinned it alive and crucified it as well_.”

“Nice visual, Jackson. Please never say that again. But no, we didn’t break up. We couldn’t break up. Since we were not and never have been any kind of an item.”

“ _Stilinski, no one cares if you two are dating. We care that you two broke up and Derek’s a mess,_ ” Jackson said, though he sounded a little pained and like maybe he was still half asleep. “ _So wait. He’s not with you? Why’s his phone off?_ ”

_Finally_. “I don’t know. Help me find him. Something’s wrong.” Stiles could hear Jackson shifting around.

“ _What do you mean something’s wrong?_ ”

“Jackson, I just know. Please. Help me find him.”

There was silence for a moment, then Jackson said, “ _I’ll meet you at the loft in twenty minutes._ ” Then, for the second time that night, Stiles was hung up on.

At least it was easier getting dressed when he wasn’t trying to talk to someone. He grabbed a hoodie and his backpack and headed out. He was the first one to get to the loft, and whilst he waited, he put in a quick call to the station, to ask that if anyone saw Derek that they call him immediately.

“ _Did he do something wrong?_ ” Stiles hated the overzealous pretty boy deputy who still looked stupidly pretty five years later.

“No, he’s missing. If someone spots him or he winds up there, call me.” Stiles hung up before the guy asked more questions and considered texting Melissa as Jackson’s car pulled up with Isaac in the passenger seat. The two wolves shuffled out of the car, both looking to Stiles’ for an answer. 

Looking between them, then craning to peer into the car behind them, Stiles was confused. “Where’s the rest? This it?” He sighed, screwing his eyes closed for a moment. He didn’t need this right now. He needed all hands on deck, not ‘whoever happened to be convenient on deck’. “Okay, wolves, how do we find him?”

Isaac gave him a look at the way they’d been addressed, but said nothing. Jackson, on the other hand, wasn’t so reserved. “‘We’ don’t find them. Isaac and I find him - with Sophia and Karl.” He looked uncomfortable with that statement though, something which Isaac cleared up.

“They’re not answering their phones either. Neither’s Peter, though less surprised at that one. Cora’s out of town - left this afternoon. So, for now, it’s just us. Jackson and I will track him.”

“You get to… just stay out the way.”

Stiles had to wonder now much of the hostility coming his way right now was just because they couldn’t stand him historically, and how much of it was because they both thought he’d broken their poor little Alpha’s heart.

“Just stay...what? I just sit here and wait for you to find him? No. I'm coming with you.”

Isaac and Jackson looked at each other, Isaac looking pained and Jackson just looking annoyed. “We can’t risk you getting hurt. You stay here. We’ll call.”

“You won’t be able to keep up anyway,” Isaac pointed out.

“I’m not just staying here!” Stiles protested. “Screw the whole ‘can’t risk it’ bullshit - this isn’t your decision to make. You don’t have to protect me!”

Isaac looked pained again, waiting for Jackson to speak. “We do actually,” the other man gruffed, like he really didn’t want it, but he felt obligated. “Just like we would him.”

“But you’d let him go with you!”

“Because he’s a lot harder to kill than you are!”

Stiles stared at both of them, flabbergasted. “I thought Derek and I broke up.”

“We thought you broke up. But he hasn’t said that. His position on you hasn’t changed.”

“God! Werewolves really can’t think for their damn selves at all, can they? You’re just going to blindly follow your own assumptions until your blessed _Alpha_ puts you right? Fine, you know what? Either you take me with you or I’m gonna drive out to the freeway and go play in the traffic. How damn safe do you think I’m gonna be then, huh? Take. Me. With. You.”

Isaac looked at Jackson, shrugging a little. “He’ll do it won’t he?”

Jackson growled softly then grabbed Stiles by the shirt. “You keep up. That’s the rule. Do not get lost.”

“I have a better sense of direction than you’d ever believe,” Stiles breathed as he slipped out of Jackson’s grip and into the back of the car. The two werewolves got into the front and, windows down, started off. Stiles left them to it. He couldn’t do what they could, but he could cheat in some areas. Reaching into his backpack, he sorted through the supplies that he kept in there. He’d packed the emergency pack in the early days of his return to Beacon Hills, and kept it updated since, adding to it as his skills grew.

The bracelet he fastened quietly round his wrist was his own design. Braided leather and engraved beads, it had taken him days of work. It would be worth it tonight. The energy stored up in the beads would give him a boost - stamina, sense of direction, a small increase in his speed and his senses. Nowhere near that of a werewolf, but enough that he wasn’t going to be collapsing halfway through the hunt.

Isaac leaned over the back of his seat, looking at Stiles’ bag. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Aren’t you supposed to have your head out of the window?”

“I can still pick up his scent,” he said pointing for somewhere for Jackson to turn and the car banked to the right.

“It’s a thing. It makes me... better.”

Isaac’s head canted to the side as he looked at Stiles. “What are you?”

“Nothing. I’m a Stiles. Go back to finding Derek.”

“Turn there,” Issac said before turning back around again.

The night seemed brighter now, the colours sharper. Stiles blinked a couple of times, trying to get used to it. In the distance, a siren blared and all three men in the car winced a little at the harshness of the noise. Jackson caught that and stared at Stiles in the rear view mirror. “What are you?” he asked, repeating Isaac’s question. “You’re not - you don’t smell different.”

“And I’m gonna entirely ignore the fact that you just admitted you know what I smell like.”

“Cinnamon, coffee and kinda like musty books with a side of mint,” Isaac supplied.

“Oh my god - too much information dudes, seriously!”

“You still haven’t answered the question. You’re acting weird...er than usual,” Jackson said, still half looking at Stiles in the mirror as he drove.

“Yeah, no offence man, but the last time you turned freaky weird on us, it wasn’t you in there and the girl I liked kinda died.”

“She did die. I remember,” Stiles said, voice lower than it had been moments before, darker. “I’m still me. Not freaky or weird, just trying to be better version of me, temporarily.” He paused, letting out a breath. “I’m more like Deaton now.”

“What - what the hell are you talking about?” Jackson asked. Stiles wasn’t surprised the guy didn’t get it - he’d always been more looks and less brain. Isaac though - Stiles only needed to catch Isaac’s eye to know that Isaac understood.

“Stiles is an emissary. Derek’s Emissary, I’d guess.” He paused, cocking his head to the side a little. “ _Our_ Emissary.”

“An emi-what?” Jackson demanded. “Explain something, now.” He turned the car again, catching a gravel road that led into the woods.

“Emissary. Guide, advisor, all of that. It’s why I’m around,” Stiles said with a sigh, leaning back in the seat.

“So you aren’t dating Derek?”

“No. God, finally. I’m not. I’m just around and it’s really him that I’m bound to and not you guys and he’s hurt or lost or something awful is happening so can we just stop talking about my dating-”

“Stop!” Isaac pointed in another direction as the car skidded to a stop on the gravel. “That way, off the road. “

Stiles had his seatbelt off and was out of the car in an instant, grabbing his backpack as he stumbled on the uneven ground. He slipped his arms into the straps and hoisted it onto his shoulders. “Let’s go,” he said, already starting up the way Isaac had pointed.

“Wait, so… Stilinski’s like our _guidance counsellor_ now?” Jackson said, keeping pace physically, even if he was way behind mentally.

“Dude, no. How high school can you get anyway?” Stiles exclaimed, mentally slapping his own forehead. “I work with Derek. I… give him someone to talk pack decisions over with who doesn’t look up to them as Alpha. Being at the top’s kinda lonely.” That was how it was meant to work, anyhow. Stiles knew that his dynamic with Derek was way off and had been from the start. They didn’t need to know that, just as they didn’t need to know about the not-magic, or the more in depth role that an emissary played in the pack.

“Stilinski, your entire relationship with him is one giant innuendo. There’s no way you two aren’t something.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and did his best to keep up with the wolves. “We are, what we are.”

“So why did Derek just let us believe…” 

“Great question. You can ask him when you find him.”

Jackson was about to reply when Isaac came to an abrupt halt. “Blood,” he said.

Stiles felt like he’d stopped breathing. “Whose?” he asked, his voice wavering.

“Derek’s,” Isaac confirmed.

“...And Peter’s,” Jackson added.

“Go!” Stiles pushed at Isaac, panic rising in his voice. Derek was alive, Stiles felt sure about that much, but barely hanging on as he bled out was still a possibility. 

“Stiles, you have to stay here. You can’t go. We can't let you get hurt.”

“He’s already hurt. We aren’t having this conversation again. I'm fine. I’m coming with you.”

“What exactly do you think you’re gonna be able to do,” Jackson challenged. “Nothing. That’s what. You can’t track, you can’t fight whatever it is that’s trying to take down an alpha and a beta who was formerly an alpha. You’re gonna get in the way. You’re gonna get yourself hurt, maybe killed. Right now, I don’t care what is or isn’t going on between you and Derek, but I do know that if you’re there, he won’t fight to protect himself - he’ll fight to protect _you_ , which means that you might end up getting _him_ killed. Go back to the car, Stilinski. Let us handle this.”

Stiles hated that they were right. Even with the amplifier, there wasn’t much he could do. He could run after them, but he couldn’t fight. Not like they could. Isaac saw it, he saw the way that Stiles doubted himself, and the blonde werewolf pushed at his shoulder, turning him back to the car. “Go Stiles.” 

Stiles took a couple of steps, but didn't get too far. “Bring him back,” he said, voice far less steady than he wanted it to be. It sounded needy and the ache in his chest was getting worse. The two wolves just looked at each other and took off, leaving Stiles to stumble back towards the car. 

The sounds of the wolf pair running through the woods soon vanished, leaving Stiles alone. It was easier to see with the help of the amplifier, yet it was still the middle of the night. Theyw ere so far from town. He could see stars and the crescent moon through the canopy of branches above him, but his mind was entirely on Derek.

Where was the alpha - _his_ Alpha? Stiles was in no doubt that the man was in serious trouble, though he had no clue how much of the pain in his chest was to do with the bond, and how much of it was born of panic and fear. He couldn’t lose Derek - he just couldn’t. He couldn’t imagine this world without the other man in it.

Stiles stifled a sob, stopping to lean against a tree for a moment, when suddenly a figure emerged from the darkness. Stiles jumped, taking a step back, before he recognised who it was. Peter Hale, covered in blood that looked almost black in the pale light, his teeth shining white through the drying trails that covered his face. “Peter - what happened? Where’s Derek? Is he okay?” Stiles asked, frantically.

“For now.” Peter’s drawl of words reminded Stiles of the old days, of meeting the man on the lacrosse field, how he made two words sound menacing. Stiles took a step back, one hand still on the tree, straining his ears for the sound of Derek’s wolves, hoping they weren’t far. They couldn’t be far. “What are you doing out in the woods Stiles? I thought Derek didn’t mean anything to you.”

Stiles’ mind went to Little Red Riding Hood, a running joke for years that kept him out of his red hoodies, but he was sure he was staring at the big, bad wolf. Where was the other one? “Of course he... What did you do?” Because who else would do something to Derek? The Other Two, they were weak, even together, but Peter was never weak.

“What I always do, of course. Exactly what is required. Derek thought that he could stand in my way. Deprive me of what is rightfully mine,” Peter growled. He moved quicker than Stiles could react, grabbing the younger man by the upper arms, painfully tight. “He’ll learn - you’ll all learn. _I_ am the alpha!”

Stiles felt his blood run cold. There was only one way that Peter could become an alpha wolf. He had to steal that power. With Derek’s death.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles groaned as he came to, rolling his head to one side on the concrete floor. The amplifier was still there, making the smell of ash and death sharper than he would have noticed without it. His head was killing him, and reaching up to it had him pulling his hand away wet and sticky with what smelled a hell of a lot like blood. His blood. Trying to push himself up off the ground his vision swam, threatening to black out again, but after a moment it held steady, his stomach lurching, but he managed to keep the bile down. “Where…” he started, but talking made his head hurt more and he wound up looking around feeling his insides sink as everything came into focus. “Peter.” The house. He was in the old Hale house. In the basement. Where most of Derek’s family had been burned alive. He was going to be sick again.

“You’re awake then.” Stiles looked up at the familiar voice, to find Peter standing well out of reach. As though Stiles actually stood any chance of hurting him.

“What the hell…”

Peter laughed, coldly. “Surely you don’t actually believe that I would let family ties get in the way of my achieving my goals.”

“And kidnapping me? What goals does that achieve, exactly?” Stiles asked, spitting blood from a split lip out onto the floor. He glared up at Peter. The arrogant senior Hale had some time paused to wash up. If Stiles hadn’t known that the house above them was a burned out shell, he would have sworn that the man had taken a shower. Maybe he had. Stiles wondered how long he’d actually been out.

“It achieves the fact that Derek has gone to ground somewhere. You’re _bait_ , Stiles. Derek is going to come looking for you. My poor, big hearted nephew can never resist a damsel in distress, after all.”

“Hey!” Stiles protested, only for Peter to roll his eyes. Stiles managed to get his back against the wall like that might protect him. “He won’t come for me.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at that, pacing slightly. “You don't think so?"” His tone was teasing, as if he were asking questions he already knew the answers to.

“What the others think, it’s wrong. I‘m not... We’re not... He didn’t come before.” Stiles’ vision swam for a moment though he wasn’t sure if it was tears in his eyes or just the concussion. Whatever it was, Peter’s laughter made it worse.

“He wouldn’t come for you, Stiles, the human in a pack of wolves? Oh, I don’t think you know Derek very well. You’re the first one he’d come for.” Stiles winced against the wall, shaking his head even if made his vision black around the edges.

“No,” Stiles repeated. “He won’t come.” He felt the darkness closing in again and fought to retain consciousness. The room spun and closing his eyes just made it worse. “He never comes.”

Peter raised his eyebrow at Stiles. “Is that it then? He let you down? I always wondered. The young wolves, they don’t know better. His place would reek of you if you were actually together. But you’re holding a grudge. Silly boy. You’re just like him.”

Stiles was torn, his consciousness wanting Derek to come and not wanting him to come. Lydia had told him the same thing once, how she’d not wanted them to find her when he took her. She’d wanted them to stay safe and she knew the nogistune was mostly using her as bait. He didn’t want to be bait. He never wanted people to be hurt because of him again. Whatever the bond was, he wished he could turn it off. It was still there though, that all consuming dull ache that let him know Derek wasn’t okay. He knew now it would act both ways. However Derek was injured, he now had to deal with knowing that Stiles was hurt as well.

“I… Keep telling people…” Stiles ground out, pushing himself toward his feet, drawing on the energy in the amplifier as much as he could. “Derek and I… are not… and never will be… together.” He had to balance himself on the wall, but he gained his feet and looked Peter in the eye.

It didn’t have the desired effect. In Stiles’ head, there had been an epic hero moment. One where he had found his inner strength, stood up against all of the odds, and faced down the antagonist. In his comic reading, movie watching brain, Peter should have run for his life. Instead, the werewolf produced a taser and and pressed it to Stiles’ chest.

Stiles dropped like a stone.

\-----

When Stiles came to again, someone had dragged him off the floor and was holding him up with one arm under his shoulder and across his chest. If he could have gotten his feet under him properly he wouldn’t have been able to escape that grip, even less with the way his vision was spinning. Something felt better though. The ache was there, he was sure he was still bleeding somewhere, but the ache was different. The pull was different. _He's here. No!_

“What’s the matter Derek? Worried I’ll hurt your precious little Stiles?” Peter’s voice was by his ear and Stiles struggled, body not moving like he needed it to to get away.

“Let him go, Peter.” Derek’s tone was low - something that Stiles could only describe as ‘murderous’. That made his blood run cold.

“You deprived me of my chance once _nephew_. Did you really think that I would let it go that easily? Bow and kneel to you as alpha for the rest of my life, just because you stole what was rightfully mine?” Stiles couldn’t hold back the cry of pain as Peter curled his claws, biting into his side. “One move and he’ll be disembowelled, Derek,” Peter warned. “It won’t kill him immediately. He’ll have plenty of time to try and pick his guts up from the floor. Will you try and put him back together? Do you even think you’d stand a chance? Kneel - offer your throat to me and I’ll let him go. You don’t both have to die.”

Stiles couldn’t move, but he could see the look flash across Derek’s eyes. The one where he considered it. “No!” Stiles held his hand out even if it didn’t go far and just made the claws in his side sink deeper. “Don't! Go! Just go!” He let out another pained noise, but tried to cut it off quickly.

“You’re injured, Derek,” Peter continued. “I’ve practically killed you already. You’d run off with your tail between your legs - where did you even go? We couldn’t find you. Typical that all it took was a human to draw you out. Then again, you’ve always been weak. Give it up, Derek - you’ve always known it’s only a matter of time. You’re miserable. What’s your life been? One tragedy and disappointment after another. Death will be a mercy, Derek. Let you rest at last.”

“Derek don’t,” Stiles pleaded, sure his vision was wavering because there were tears in his eyes. “Go. Leave. Don’t-”

“I’m not leaving you here Stiles. I promised-”

“I don't care! Let me die! You didn’t kill me then, kill me now! Kill him!” Stiles’ order had Peter raking his claws down his side, all the way to his hip bone and Stiles screamed.

In that moment, Derek pounced, launching himself bodily into Peter. Both wolves flew back, Derk pinning Peter against the far wall. Stiles collapsed to the floor, hands pressed to the side to try in vain to slow the bleeding.

Derek fought like a man possessed, like an animal. Claws and teeth blurring with speed and Stiles knew there was no way Peter could have survived the attack. It was too vicious, too intent. Derek wasn’t trying to stop Peter - he was trying to tear him apart.

Confirmation came when Derek finally fell back, as coated in blood as the remnants of the corpse he left behind. Peter - or what was left of him - was unrecognisable. Derek was bleeding heavily and breathing harder as Stiles shuffled his way across the floor to him, one arm still clutched at his torso.

It still hurt, seeing _his_ Alpha like that, because damnit Derek was his and he was hurt, but there was something incredible in the instant Stiles got his hand on Derek, like whatever had been missing in his life fell back into place. “Der,” he breathed, pain from his injuries in his voice but it was Derek and Derek was here. 

“I got you,” Derek said, his voice weak, but his touch firm in the way that he grasped Stiles’ forearm and abruptly, the pain faded away.

“No - Derek, no,” Stiles murmured. He knew what this was and Derek was too hurt already to be taking his pain. Stiles tried to struggle but it was too much.

“I got you,” Derek whispered again, as the world went away.

\-----

With consciousness came pain. Not as much as it could have been, but Stiles assumed that the haze was half from painkillers. He knew that whirr of machines and the smell. No one talked about it, but hospitals had a distinct smell and anyone who spent serious time in a hospital knew and could never forget it. He supposed it was good he wasn’t dead. Stiles opened his eyes with a heavy sigh, not wanting to embrace the real world of pain and exhaustion, but he had to. “You're an idiot.” 

“How'’d you know I was here?”

“I can hear you breathing,” Stiles said holding up the arm with the bracelet on it. “Where else would you be anyway?”

Derek leaned forward, slipping his hand into Stiles’ without asking. Stiles didn’t have the energy to even question it, let alone protest. Anyway, it was nice, especially the way Derek traced patterns into his skin with the pad of his thumb. “There’s nowhere else I’d be,” the alpha agreed.

“You look far too good for a guy who’s been involved in a fight to the death. That’s… what it was right?” Stiles asked, needing that confirmation.

Derek nodded, solemnly. “That’s what it was.”

“Then you look entirely too good. I’m sure I look like death.” Stiles shifted so he could roll on his good side and see Derek better. “You okay?” He couldn’t be. Not after killing Peter again. Not after he’d explained it, how it had felt to lose him again. 

Derek made a face. “You’ve looked better.” At Stiles’ question he let his head drop, resting his forehead on their joined hands. “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“That wasn’t what I asked,” Stiles said gently. He brought his other hand over to rest on Derek’s head, and that was when he saw it. The line going into the back of his hand. He followed it back to the electronic pump. He recognized that - his mother had had one, when things got bad. It delivered pretty serious pain medication. “Are you okay?” Stiles repeated, pushing aside his fears about his own condition, so he could focus on his Alpha.

“I heal,” Derek reminded him.

“You know it’s not the same thing,” Stiles pointed out, feeling Derek’s hot breath on his skin and not able to fight the goosebumps that sprung up. 

“But I will. Just not as quickly.” Stiles ran his fingers through the older man’s hair, hearing his breathing hitch with it. “I’m gonna be fine.”

“Tell me what happened,” Stiles said, firmly, absently running his fingers down the side of Derek’s face. Derek looked up, meeting his eyes, as Stiles cupped his jaw.

“Later, when you’re healed. Or, at least, not on pain meds.”

“No, Der - now,” Stiles countered.

Derek leaned into Stiles’ hand, watching him and not answering right away. “Peter said I had to get out of the loft. I was being miserable and making everyone miserable.” 

“Miserable?” Stiles sounded confused. 

“Yes. Miserable.” Derek looked almost ashamed for a moment then pulled Stiles’ hand away from his jaw, but still holding on to it. “Don’t stay away for that long again. We were out, walking near the woods and The Other Two attacked.” 

“They have names you know,” Stiles joked, blaming the drugs for his poor attempt at humor.

“Yeah, I know - I just don’t like to use them,” Derek responded, with the ghost of a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“...Are they still out there?” Stiles asked him. They both knew what he was really asking and Derek shook his head, his expression telling Stiles all he needed to know. 

“I thought it was just them, at first,” Derek explained. “I looked for Peter - wanting to make sure he was alright. Wanting to see if he had my back.” Derek looked away. “Stupid - I should have known.”

“How could you have known?” Stiles questioned, aghast. Derek looked back up at his tone, his gaze like steel.

“Because Peter wanted to be the alpha all along. That’s why we’re here, Stiles. You remember when the other pack first came to town? How he was all ‘let’s find out more about them’, and ‘let’s hold back for now’? I listened to him. Scott listened to him. He had years of experience on his side and why wouldn’t we? Then, when we had a plan - when Scott said we had to run them out of town…” Derek shook his head and Stiles waited, not daring to interrupt, biting his lip against his own commentary. He remembered that night - that was the night Derek had betrayed them all. That was the night that Derek had slipped out and killed the alpha himself. That was the night that started all of this. “I saw Peter leave and I just knew he was up to no good. When you’re raised with someone like him, you learn what ‘shifty’ looks like, even on him. So, I followed him.”

Derek’s hand on Stiles’ tightened a little, as did his jaw, and Stiles fought the urge to smooth it softer again because Derek was still talking and Stiles was pretty sure that would distract both of them. 

“He had a plan, he’d take out that alpha. I knew the moment he’d confronted the guy, trying to be diplomatic. When the fight broke out, I jumped in. I couldn’t let him. I couldn’t let him do that. And...you know Scott isn’t cut out for it. He’s not a killer, you said that yourself. There was an opening and I took it.” Derek’s grip loosened, but his hand stayed there, his shoulders dropping. “I knew he wasn’t happy with me, when I became alpha, but Peter’s family ...was family. Then last night, The Other Two attacked and ...he was there too. With them. I managed to get away, he must have heard Jackson and Isaac coming. For all his bravado, he’s actually afraid of them because well…” 

“They’re loyal to you. You turned them, gave them what they wanted.” Stiles could see that now, though he was blaming his sudden clarity on Derek’s hand in his and the pain medication. It was harder to be angry when everything was fuzzy around the edges. 

“Right. So we split apart. Then… It hurts when you get hurt. Is that supposed to happen?” Derek touched his chest lightly, looking up at Stiles for answers. 

“I read… things. Lots of things. When it started to ache. I talked to Deaton and I researched.” Stiles ignored the hitched laugh from Derek. Everyone knew that was Stiles’ go to response to anything. If in doubt: research. “The bond - it’s different for different people. Some it’s just a kind of… they feel better when they work together? Like, more accomplished? Less twitchy. Others… Apparently, it depends on how close you are, I guess.” Which was a great way of putting something he felt awkward saying, even if it wasn’t strictly accurate. How the books had put it was ‘depth of feelings’, which arguably, was something entirely different. “The closer you are, the stronger the bond, the greater the pull.”

Derek watched Stiles for a long moment. “I didn’t realize we were.” 

Stiles felt his cheeks go warmer, eyes ticking down to the grip Derek had on his hand. “That’s the conversation we should have when I’m on less pain medication.” Because right now he would tell Derek everything. He wanted to tell Derek everything. How he’d always felt. How Derek’s image still came to mind in his more private moments. 

“Right, sorry,” Derek apologised, and Stiles felt the grip on his hand loosen. “I should leave you - to rest.”

“Derek…”

“No - it’s okay. You need your rest,” Derek said, letting Stiles go and getting to his feet. Then he seemed to hesitate. Looking down, he said, “Is it okay if I visit?”

Stiles frowned. “Of course it is - why wouldn’t it be?” he asked, confused at even being asked the question. It was the same confusion that he saw reflected back at him.

“Maybe because I haven’t seen you for weeks? You’ve been avoiding me, Stiles.”

“I’ve been…” Avoiding was entirely accurate. Stiles reached for Derek’s hand, wincing as he stretched his still healing wounds. “Come visit. Please. I can’t...I’ll say too much with no way of stopping myself, but I’m sorry.” 

Derek looked pained as Stiles winced, looking at his hand on Derek's arm. “You don’t have to apologize. I know...why. But I’ll come see you.” He headed toward the door, stopping just before he left to say, “I wish you didn’t feel like you had to filter yourself around me.”

Stiles closed his eyes, resting his head back against the pillow. He heard, rather than saw, Derek leave the room. “I need to know exactly what I’m doing,” he said to the empty air, though he knew that Derek would hear the words as he walked away. Hopefully he would understand.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles swore softly at the stairs to Derek’s loft, holding on to railing to catch his breath. He was out of the hospital which was good, but he remained pretty torn up and was still healing. Nevertheless, he had had only one thing on his mind and once his dad had left him alone, Stiles had been out of the house and straight over here. It hadn’t been an easy journey. By the time he’d made it to the loft he was breathing heavily, but still standing. 

He’d been in the hospital a week before they had finally let him go. Derek had come by to visit like promised, but somehow had managed to only shown up when someone else was there or Stiles was asleep. Too many of Derek’s visits were something he heard about from his dad, or the nurses. He had thought maybe that would change once he got home and it had. It had become worse. He hadn’t seen Derek since he left the hospital and it had been three days now. Stiles wasn’t willing to play that game again. Still injured or not, Stiles was here. “Der?” he called, giving up on deluding himself he could make it up the stairs alone.

The loft door opened, Derek appearing at the top of the stairs. He swore under his breath and hurried down to Stiles. “What are you doing here? You’re not strong enough. You should have called, I would have come over,” he said, putting an arm round Stiles and helping him up to the loft. 

Half carried him, if the truth was told, Stiles protesting all of the way, but still letting him do it because it was easier than wincing his way up the stairs. “You would have waited until I was asleep,” he grumbled, leaning into Derek, shocked at how much better it felt.

“You’ve been sleeping a lot.”

“Not that much, Derek. What did you do, wait outside until you heard me fall asleep? Happened too much to be a coincidence.”

Derek made a noise that wasn’t really an answer but confirmed Stiles’ suspicions. “What’s wrong?” Derek asked instead.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Nothing like Derek was thinking at least. It was more what was wrong with Derek and Stiles rather than something bearing down on them.

“Then why are you here?” Derek asked as he helped Stiles to his chair in the corner of the loft. Stiles scowled at him a little for that - the couch would have been better, but Derek hadn’t taken the hint.

Stiles took a moment to find his breath, then said, “I wanted to see you. Just you. Without an audience. Figured this was the way to make that happen.”

“And your dad just let you take the car? He told me yesterday you probably wouldn’t be allowed to drive for a while.”

Stiles winced. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him?”

“When we’re done here, I’m driving you home. No arguments. I’ll have Jackson or Isaac bring your jeep back later.”

Stiles rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Driving didn’t sound like fun right that moment anyway. “We should have that conversation,” he said, sinking back a little in his chair and wishing Derek could sit closer.

“We don’t have to. It’s fine Stiles.”

“But we should.”

“Why? I know. It’s fine. I’m sorry you got hurt because of it.” Guilt was written all over Derek’s face and Stiles hated himself for it.

“That’s not why… Okay, it _is_ why I got hurt, but that’s okay. Sure, I’d prefer not to get hurt - not getting hurt is up there at the top of the list of ‘things Stiles wants for his future’, but let’s be honest here - there’s a whole lot of me getting hurt in my past and I willingly came back to Beacon Hills, which is like the root cause of all of that getting hurt. Worst thing that happened to me at college was a few hangovers and that time I fell down the library stairs and sprained my wrist.”

Derek arched a brow. “Then why did you come back?”

“Because this is my _home_ , dumbass. For all its… Beacon-Hills-ness, I kinda… didn’t have anywhere else that I could imagine spending the rest of my life. Plus, my dad’s here and there’s other people I care about here. I graduated and it just… made sense.”

“You settled.”

“Jeez - now you’re sounding like my dad. Wait, hold on - did you talk to him about this? About me? Coming back here? He said that you two have been having, like, coffee and chats and that’s really weird, you know? My dad talking to my… anyway! It’s weird! So, have you?”

“Have I?” Derek asked. He seemed to be having a hard time keeping up with Stiles’ rambling and the verbal pace he’d set. He couldn’t help it - he always talked more when he was nervous.

“Talked to my dad about me? About the fact that I came home.”

“It might have been mentioned in passing, yes.”

“What was said in passing?” Stiles did his best to seem casual about it, but he really wanted to interrogate him. 

“He wondered what I wondered, why you didn’t go to New York to be with Lydia. What made you come home. If I was happy you were back.”

Stiles made himself not jump right to the question he wanted to ask. Instead, he continued to fake casual. “I didn’t want to be across the other side of the country from my dad. Plus, New York’s not really my scene.”

“You ever actually _been_ to New York?” Derek challenged, which earned him a roll of the eyes from Stiles.

“Yeah, well, I have _now_. So I can, with full confidence, say - it’s not my kind of a place. Like, seriously. I’m just not a big city dude. I’m guessing neither are you - since you never actually went back.”

“I never actually lived in New York City. Just the state,” Derek corrected.

“Oh. Wow - I totally didn’t know that. Wow. Okay. I… have so much I don’t know about you,” Stiles said, a little thrown by that - and by the playful smirk Derek threw his way, which did all kinds of nice things to his insides. “Anyway, that’s why I didn’t go. So… what did you tell my dad? When he, y’know, asked if you were glad I was back,” Stiles asked, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck, trying and failing to act like it was just an offhand question.

Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles before drifting closer. “There’s a reason why he didn’t seem surprised to see me visiting your hospital room.” 

“Well yeah, I told him we were working together,” Stiles said, brushing away Derek’s attempt to not answer his question. They couldn’t keep talking around this. “What did you say?" 

Derek almost laughed but the noise never came out. It was more like his shoulders shook in something that could have been a laugh but wasn’t. “I said it was nice to see you again,” he said, but the words were lost on Stiles as Derek moved closer and it took everything in Stiles to not actually reach out and grab him.

“And after you’d seen me? Was it still nice then?” Stiles asked him, practically sitting on his own hands by now, his right knee jiggling up and down with the effort of staying still. Not something he’d ever been good at. 

“It was better. I’d forgotten how much I missed you.” Derek was still drifting closer, he eyes on Stiles’ bouncing knee. “It was good to see you even if it was just from a distance.” 

“Even though I wasn’t exactly being the most friendly of guys?” Stiles asked, watching Derek watch him. He watch the slight wince, the way it cleared off his expression almost immediately, to be replaced with the ghost of a smile. The way Derek lifted his gaze under those forever expressive brows and met his eyes.

“I never expected anything from you, Stiles. So, yes, even if you weren’t friendly, it was good.”

“You could have said something,” Stiles insisted. “Any of those times.” He wanted to drag Derek closer, finally getting his hand away from under his leg and holding it out to Derek. 

“Why would I say something? I told you. I don’t expect things.” Derek watched Stiles’ hand and eventually moved within reach. “Stop worrying about it Stiles.” 

“Why wouldn’t you say something?” Stiles asked, flexing his fingers and drawing back a little, feeling self-conscious when his hand wasn’t actually taken.

“Well, for starters, when you got back, you pretty much treated me like I was the devil incarnate.”

“But before that,” Stiles insisted. “And… I hated you.” Which Stiles realized he shouldn’t have. He didn’t. Or maybe he did but not like he thought he did. “But not like…” The words were getting hung up and Stiles balled his hand into a fist. “Not because I didn’t like you. Because I wanted to.” 

Derek was there closer again and Stiles was pushing up from the chair a little. “Why before… you were different. Stiles...Don’t get up.” It was too late though and Stiles was reaching for Derek and leaning into him, hand fixing on Derek’s shirt, marveling in how soft it was. Derek’s arms went round him in a way that felt almost instinctive, though the hold was cautious and protecting. “You were different,” Derek repeated and Stiles tried to hide the smile that threatened at the way that Derek sounded like he was forcing himself to stay on track. “Everyone said you never mentioned me. Then you left town.” There was a heavy pause and Stiles looked at Derek, willing him to say what was clearly on his mind. “Why did you want to hate me?” the werewolf asked, as if he were afraid to hear the answer.

The realization that Derek was afraid right now shocked Stiles. He had never imagined Derek as being afraid of anything, let alone being afraid of Stiles and something he could say. Stiles shook his head slowly, pulling at where he was holding on to Derek’s shirt. “I didn’t want to hate you. I hated you because before then I wanted to like you.” 

Stiles felt Derek’s fingers tighten somewhere around his lower back. “That barely makes sense.” 

“I never said I was rational.” 

“Is there any way you can make it rational? Or, at least… I don’t understand,” Derek admitted, his brow scrunched together as he tilted his head to the side in a look of confusion that Stiles found kind of adorable. Like a little lost puppy - if lost puppies could be over six feet tall, with muscles everywhere it was possible to have muscles and capable of having fangs and claws.

Stiles wanted to blame the leftover pain meds in his system for his explanation, but he wasn’t nearly as fuzzy and his side still hurt like hell because he’d broken at least six rules from his doctors just to get where he was. He reached up and pressed his forefinger against the crease above Derek’s nose, trying to flatten it smooth again. “It means you should have told me five years ago. That the bond, it wouldn’t be this deep if I didn’t...feel as strongly. You can still feel it can’t you? When I’m in pain? I felt it when you were hurt, that was why I came running.” 

“I woke up in the middle of the night, when you needed to take your meds,” Derek agreed, leaning into Stiles’ touch. “But… feel as strongly? I… what…? I thought…”

“I’m sorry about that,” Stiles apologized, which wasn’t really a thing he did all that much, but he felt like he needed to with Derek. He deserved that. “You thought wrong. I never said…” 

“You said we weren’t together. You were pretty damn adamant about that. You told everyone. Repeatedly. You told Isaac and Jackson… They said you kept saying it, like it was the last thing you’d ever want. You told me you hated me. Now you say you only hated me because you… never hated me and I’m gonna need you to spell this one out for me, Stiles.”

Stiles pulled back a little, knowing that Derek was right. He’d been a contradictory pain in the ass. Stiles kept his fingers twisted in Derek’s shirt despite pulling away. “I hated you. But I hated you because I liked you so much. Because I wanted to be with you so badly since the moment I saw you. The first moment. But then… Then you weren’t there when I needed you. And I couldn’t stand how I felt. I hated you because it was easier than hating myself for something else. I thought you didn’t care about me much. I was wrong there too.” And he hated admitting he was wrong. 

Derek’s brows arched in surprise. “You liked me from the start? Why - why didn’t _you_ say anything?” he asked, a question which Stiles answered with his own version of The Withering Glare™. “Okay, fine. Maybe not straight away - but we reached a point, didn’t we? We were getting to a better place.”

“Yeah, we did - and then I wasn’t me anymore.”

Derek winced, knowing they were back to where they’d been. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t push more. I’m sorry I did the wrong thing.”

“Shut up Derek,” Stiles said, pulling at him again and feeling the wolf go with the tug on his shirt until Derek was pressed close to him. “We wanted different things. What you did was probably for the best, if you ask anyone but me,” he said, dropping his forehead against Derek’s shoulder. Derek’s hand found its way up against the back of Stiles’ neck and Stiles sighed wondering how they had managed to get where they were now, but no further. 

“I did,” Derek told him, his tone full of regret. “I asked everyone else but you. Or Lydia. I didn’t ask Lydia. I don’t think… No I know. Once I realised you two were together, I couldn’t bring myself to speak to her. There’s no way she wouldn’t have seen right through me.”

“Which maybe would have been a good thing,” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s chest. “We were only dating because she was on a mission to stop me being a total social recluse.”

“Really?” Stiles looked up at Derek’s surprised tone, and he couldn’t stop the twitching smile from forming.

“Yeah, really.”

“Did it work?” Derek asked, fingers slipping into the hair along the back of Stiles’ neck. 

“I think you know the answer to that question.” Stiles watched Derek try and keep his mouth tight-lipped to contain the smile. “No. It made me social with her. Gave me someone to talk to when I needed someone. But I was still alone. And she still went off to New York and dated guys named Ivan.”

“I thought you weren’t really with her,” Derek countered and Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“You mean you’re jealous even when you don’t want to be.” Stiles blanched, but Derek just cupped his cheeks in his hands. Giant hands. Warm hands that made the pain he was feeling subside a little. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“But you are.” 

“Well, at least you know what you’re getting yourself into.” 

“You always were into her.”

“What can I say - I’m not good at letting go,” Stiles said with a shrug that belied the fact that he was still staring at Derek. “It’s different now though.”

“Is it?” 

“Yeah - I don’t _actually_ want to be with her anymore. I love her like a friend. I’d say sister, but that would make things really weird, so let’s stick with ‘friend’. Even when we were together, I knew it wasn’t right. Neither of us was broken hearted when we broke up. In fact, we hardly really talked about it and then she was setting me up with other people. But… she’s Lydia.” Stiles looked at Derek, hoping that he would understand that and it wouldn’t be a problem. 

Derek nodded. “And she’ll always be Lydia.” He ran his thumb over Stiles’ cheekbone, which made Stiles shiver and he half hated himself for being so obvious. “You know. I get jealous too.” 

“You? Never,” Stiles grinned, pulling at Derek’s shirt to get him closer again. “Well I can promise you again and again how much prettier you are than Jackson.” 

“Stiles.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Don’t talk about Jackson.” 

Stiles nodded, far too fast. “Okay,” he agreed. He stood there, chest to chest with Derek, so close that he could feel the warmth of his breath of his face. Stiles’ heart was racing with nerves and anticipation, but it was as though they were frozen in time. “Derek?” he asked, after a moment.

“Hmm?” the werewolf responded, mimicking Stiles’ tone from moments before.

“Can you just kiss me now?”

Derek made a face that looked like he was considering that, legitimately weighing options and Stiles felt that surge of panic, sure he would decide no. He was practically pulling on his shirt, trying hard not to beg, but just as Stiles started to doubt everything, Derek smirked then pressed him mouth warm against Stiles’. The kiss was hard, but measured, like it was something Derek had planned, like he knew just how he wanted to kiss Stiles and had for years. 

Stiles tilted his head to the side, his eyes drifting closed even as he returned the kiss and mentally called Derek evil for putting him through that. Even if maybe, just maybe, he sort of deserved it. He’d never admit that - Derek just needed to know what he was, hopefully, signing on for.

Was he signing on? Stiles’ eyes flew open and he drew back, his mind already interrupting what should have been the perfect first kiss. “I can take it back, right? That whole ‘we’ll never be together’ thing? Right - you want that? For that not to be it? Because - that’s what I want. Really, really want.”

Derek looked confused that the kiss that stopped, but it broke into a smile as Stiles spoke. “If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t be here. Surprisingly enough, once you manage to get under someone’s skin it’s very hard to give up the hope of keeping you.” He kissed Stiles’ lightly, nipping at his lower lip. “I do want that. You.” 

“So says you,” Stiles said, shifting his arms up to encircle Derek’s neck. “I think you’re probably the only person who wants to harbour any hope of having me, let alone keeping me.”

“You’d be surprised,” Derek said. “Everyone seemed to approve when they thought we were together.”

Stiles smirked. “Yeah, everyone just loved the idea of me with someone who wasn’t them,” he teased. “They probably think you’re a real martyr.”

Derek gave Stiles one of his looks as he pulled Stiles back towards the couch. Stiles couldn’t help a feeling of triumph that he wasn’t back in the chair by himself. Instead, he was crawling over Derek as Derek sat back. “I’m a lucky martyr,” Derek murmured, looking up at Stiles in a way that made Stiles stomach turn over. 

“Again, I think that probably depends on your opinion. But I’m not gonna try and change your mind on that one. You wanna think you’re lucky to be with me, then all the better, buster.”

Derek pulled Stiles into his lap, both gentle and urgent as if he wanted Stiles there but was ever mindful of his injuries. “I am. More than I thought.” Before Stiles could ask why, Derek was kissing him again, fingers sliding up his spine under his shirt. Suddenly, Stiles didn’t care so much why. What he cared about was kissing Derek back and making sure that he knew that, injured or not, Stiles wasn’t going to break. Derek went along with it until his hand bumped into the bandage on Stiles’ side and he pulled away from the kiss despite Stiles’ whimper of protest. “You’re hurt Stiles,” he reminded him, pushing up at Stiles’ shirt to see gauze that ran from his hip to his ribcage. “You’ve got stitches. This can wait.”

So much for trying to be seen as unbreakable. “M’fine,” Stiles mumbled in something that was almost definitely a whine, but he couldn’t fight past the hand that Derek had on his chest. Of course, Derek also knew exactly where to put his hand, over one of the few places that Stiles wasn’t bruised. The fact left Stiles huffing slightly, shoulders sinking.

“You aren’t,” Derek said, leaning back against the couch, to put what distance he could between them - which really wasn’t much, given that Stiles was still sat in his lap and had absolutely no intention of moving. Derek, for his part, didn’t seem to want him to either, so Stiles glowed a little in triumph at that. “You’re hurt, we’re not getting carried away. Plus we should talk,” Derek added in his ‘serious tone’.

“We did talk - a moment ago. We landed on me wanting you and you forgiving me for saying over and over again how badly I didn’t want you. That was what we decided right?” Stiles could feel his heart rate go up and not in the great way it had moments before. Never in the history of anything had ‘we should talk’ ever led to anything good. Or, at least, that’s what Hollywood taught. 

Stiles tried hard not to panic, as Derek ignored what he was saying and finished his thought. “While you were in the hospital, Scott and I laid out the groundwork for how we’re going to handle the divide between the packs and the town.”

“What?” Stiles was thrown at first. He felt like he’d missed a step. Then his brain caught up with his mouth and he realised what had been said. “Wait! While I was barely conscious?” Stiles managed to look affronted despite the fact that he was still in Derek’s lap, a knee on either side of Derek’s hips.

“It’s a council sort of thing. We’re going to jointly protect Beacon Hills drawing on the strengths of either pack to make it work,” Derek continued as Stiles just sat back and looked at him, long and hard and making himself wait to hear Derek out before saying anything else. “We’ve talked it over with your dad, and he’s on board as kind of a consultant and unofficial member. Unofficial because it’s only meant to be about the supernatural. We’re not trying to replace law enforcement in this town, or encroach on what he does. But - what happened to you? To me? I heard that you wouldn’t call Scott when I was in trouble. We’re weaker, keeping ourselves apart that way. That has to stop. So - two packs, working together. Deaton’s agreed to be on the council as well, and I’d like you to agree to be so also.”

“Wow,” Stiles said, mouth wide open as his brows reached for his hairline. “You’ve really got this whole thing planned out, haven’t you?” The way Derek suddenly stilled told Stiles all he needed to know about the wolf not having expected a negative reaction. “You’re doing it again - planning everything without me. This should _not_ have been something that was put together while I was lying in a hospital bed, Der! _Especially_ not when it involved my _best friend_ and my _father_ and nobody’s said a damn word to me!”

"Stiles, I was doing it for you. So we can protect everything we care about. So I can protect _you_. Do you not like the idea?"

“No, it’s a great idea, it’s just not one I should be hearing about after the fact! You’ve got to talk to me! That’s the point. I should be the one reaching out to my dad and Deaton. You’re doing everything on your own again because you still see me as something you have to protect! I’m not that fragile! I can help! I’m supposed to help! We’re supposed to be partners." The way Derek’s expression softened on the word ‘partners’ wasn’t lost on Stiles, but he refused to have his point lost in a mushy moment. “Right now, I’m talking work!”

Derek’s expression lost the wistfulness and he nodded curtly. “Fine. Work. What would have had me do Stiles? Sit in your hospital room with notes and Scott and explain our plan?”

“Yes. Exactly that. Completely. Why is that so hard?”

Derek stalled for a moment fingers tapping out a rhythm on Stiles’ thigh before he looked up at him, guiding him a little closer with his hand on Stiles’ good hip. “Because I thought you were going to push me away again. Talking to you would just lead to that conversation and I didn’t want to have it.”

“So, you made a plan that had a Stiles-shaped hole in it. And that’s better because…”

“Because you’ve always been really good at that,” Derek told him, looking a little pained. “Being what everyone needed you to be. I just wanted to make it easy on you. When you said before that we needed to talk. When you said that it had to wait for you to be out of the hospital. I figured that you were going to tell me that you couldn’t deal with my having feelings for you. That it was all too much. I figured, if there was another way. If…”

“If I didn’t have to deal just with you?” Stiles completed with a sigh. “Der… It wasn’t like that at all. Like, the opposite of like that, actually. In the hospital I was high on whatever the hell they had me on and it felt like a really good idea to just blurt out exactly how I’d always felt about you.”

“What’s wrong with that? Knowing exactly how you felt about me is a good thing! Anyway - is that not what you’ve just done? So instead you made me wait a week and then told me anyway?” Derek asked, wrinkling his brow in confusion.

“There was less babbling going on. And I was looking a hell of a lot less like a pity date,” Stiles supplied, but Derek was probably right. “And maybe I didn’t mention all the embarrassing parts of liking you, just the ones that matter. I didn’t cry either, which was a possibility.”

It was clear that Derek at least attempted to hide the laughing smile, but he also failed miserably at that. Stiles hit him lightly on the chest, but couldn’t bring himself to actually care. “There are embarrassing parts of liking me?” Derek teased, his eyes lighting up at the thought. “You know, you should probably tell me those first.”

“First?” Stiles questioned.

“Yeah, first. Before Cora finds out.”

“And how, exactly, will she do that?”

“No idea, but trust me - she always does. She says it’s her duty as my little sister. If there are any secrets involving me - especially involving my love life - she makes a point of finding them out. Then she’s merciless.”

“So… did she know about me?” Stiles asked, tilting his head in real curiosity at that thought.

“Oh. Oh yeah. Definitely. Possibly before I did.”

“Before you did? How does that even work? Did Scott and everyone know too? Like, before I started showing up and you were lying to them.”

“I wasn’t lying.”

“Lying by omission counts.”

“Stiles, if that’s the case you lie about everything.”

“So what if I do? You didn’t answer my question. Did they know before I knew? Why did no one tell me?”

“I never told anyone,” Derek sighed, giving in. “And, Cora aside, nobody ever asked. But, people knew. I’m not always that subtle. I got a whole lot of looks. Knowing looks. Pitying looks. Looks that said ‘one day he’ll come round’. Though, that was just your dad, and I never believed him. Why did no one tell me you liked me?”

“My dad knew?” Stiles’ face was one of pure shock. “How did I not know?” He knew the answer to that. He’d avoided even looking at Derek for half a decade, that was how. “Because when I first figured it out I wasn’t even entirely sure I was into guys. Then it was you and I wasn’t really ready to have that conversation with everyone, so no one really knew and right when I was really starting to sort it...I wasn’t me.” He’d been not ten feet from where he was sitting when he really figured it out, that what was going on in his head was normal, but something else had caught his attention and he’d focused on that instead. 

“Your dad’s a smart man who solves mysteries and puts together seemingly disconnected pieces to form patterns. Yeah, he at least suspected. But he never asked for confirmation and I never offered it. But he always made a point of telling me how you were doing without my having to ask.” 

“Why didn’t you just move on?”

Stiles waited for an answer this question, scowling when one wasn’t forthcoming. He arched a brow and Derek finally relented. “I tried, but you said it. I have terrible taste...”

Stiles frowned a little, reaching forward to lett his fingers sift through Derek’s hair. “I am terrible. I’m sorry.” He’d apologized more in the past few minutes than he had all year, but Derek deserved it. “I’m a better boyfriend. At least Lydia says I’m a good boyfriend.”

“You always looked like a good boyfriend.”

“You watched us?” Stiles asked, surprised.

“Of course I did. We had the same group of friends and I was jealous as hell. What else was I gonna do? Cora calls it ‘pathetic pining’,” Derek said, rolling his eyes.

“She might be right,” Stiles deadpanned and Derek pinched his side which just made him laugh and swat at Derek’s hand. “Fine, fine. Just pining. And sweet really.” Sweet wasn’t a word he associated with Derek at all, but it was a nice change. He’d always wondered if there was one of those genuinely nice guys under the gruff exterior.

“Sweet?” Derek echoed.

Stiles nodded slowly. “Yeah. Knowing you cared enough to pay attention. I’ve been that guy. I got told I was sweet a lot.”

“You’re not sweet,” Derek told him, his mouth curling up at the corners. “Or, at least, you can be sweet, but that’s not the word that immediately springs to mind when thinking of you.”

“Oh? And what word would that be?” Stiles prompted, jumping on the chance to have actual compliments coming from Derek Hale.

“Exhausting. Frustrating. Persistent. Determined,” Derek’s voice got softer as he went on, watching Stiles closely. “Brave.”

Stiles could feel the expectant look draining from his face as Derek spoke, its halt only coming at the last word. He tried to look like he wasn’t almost devastated. “I was kinda hoping for... sexy? Good looking? Awesome?”

“Definitely good looking,” Derek confirmed quickly as if he’d seen the way Stiles’ face fell. “But that was just what got me to look, not what got me stick around.”

“You stuck around because I was frustrating?” Stiles sounded skeptical.

“I stuck around because you’d managed to frustrate me. It meant I cared about something about you.”

It was typical, Stiles considered, that when he finally managed to get the guy, it would turn out to be because he was irritating. He tried to look like he didn’t care, but it was clear from Derek’s face and the way the other man clutched at him that Stiles failed entirely with that.

“Stiles,” Derek murmured gently consider they were as close as they could get and he didn’t need to be loud. “Don’t make that face.” He held Stiles’ cheek, pressing at the space on his forehead that crinkled, the same way Stiles had done to him.

Stiles pressed into the touch, closing his eyes. “I just had this vision of us. I never thought it would happen, but I had this idea. And you saying you liked me because I was _irritating_ never actually came into it. Doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it. I just... yeah.”

“I never said irritating,” Derek corrected. “You have run me ragged the entire time I’ve known you. You were under my skin from the first second and you’ve continued and continued to be that person that’s always there. You challenge me in ways no one else does, point out my flaws and shortcomings and I should hate it but the moment you were gone, I spent every second looking for you.”

Stiles stared at him, and then the wavering smile started to appear. “ _That_ I’ll take as an answer,” he said, knowing he was sounding a little helpless. Sure, it wasn’t a ‘you’re a sex god and I couldn’t stay away’ answer, but realistically, he was never going to get that anyway. Derek’s actual response was not only more realistic, there was that ring of truth that was so, so very attractive. “I really wish it hadn’t taken you five years to find me.”

Derek looked proud of what he’d said and the reaction it garnered, leaning up to kiss Stiles lightly. “I could say the same thing. You waited too long to figure it out Stiles. How very unlike you.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” Stiles quipped, knowing he was a long way from perfect. Derek, clearly, knew that as well. “It’s easier to figure things out when they’re not personal. I don’t... Most things I don’t really matter in.”

Derek frowned. “Since when do you not matter?”

Stiles threw him a confused expression, not really able to believe that he was having ask the question. “Like... ever? Look at the evidence. Scott got bit, then Peter was after him, you were trying to get him into your pack and everything with Jackson, then the alpha pack. The one time that anyone actually focused on me, it was because I wasn’t me at all. Generally I’m involved because I’m helping solve the problem, but it’s never really about me.”

“After Scott got bit, you figured out what he was long before he would have. And you taught him how to control it. You did the same with Jackson. You saved him, which he refuses to admit. You saved me. Stiles, you’ve been essential to all of this even if you haven’t been the main character.” 

“See, that comes right back to what I was saying - it’s never actually about me. It’s about other people and I’m just there to help. When you’re right there in the middle of it all, it’s hard to actually see what’s in front of you. You become too close to it. I couldn’t tell the difference between reality and wishful thinking. And then... You’re you. You’re hot. You’re older. You’re wiser-” Stiles paused and smirked, rolling his eyes. “Okay, well - maybe not wiser,” he teased.

“I’m me? You said that before. Am I that awful?” Derek shook his head slowly. “I’m amazed you don’t see it. You notice everything but you never see the way people look at you.” 

“Yes I do. I see them look at me like I’m some kind of freak. Or that I’m a pain in the ass. Or they don’t see me at all. You - you they don’t see as awful. Miserable and antisocial, Yes, but not awful.”

“People see you. But thank you, I hadn’t realized I was coming across as miserable and antisocial when I was going for intimidating.” Derek half rolled his eyes. “You wanted the compliment Stiles, let me give it to you.”

Stiles huffed a sigh, something more dramatic than necessary before leaning in closer, forehead bumping against Derek’s. “Then give me a real one and not some backhanded one.”

Derek laughed but leaned in more, bumping his nose against Stiles’ jaw, obviously lapping up his scent. “You’re smart, deceptively good looking, charming when you want to be, loyal, and if I have my way, all mine,” he murmured against Stiles skin so Stiles not only heard the words he felt them.

Stiles closed his eyes and let himself just drift in the moment. ‘Charming when you want to be’ clearly applied to both of them. Right now, though, he was glad that Derek wasn’t that level of charming all the time. If he kept saying those kind of things, Stiles didn’t think he would survive. At the very least, he’d lose what little ability to concentrate he actually had. “You want me to be all yours, then stop treating me like I’m made of glass and need bundling up in cotton wool. Stop making decisions about my life without consulting me and I think we have a deal.”

“I can’t believe you’re _negotiating_ the terms of our relationship,” Derek said, not lifting his lips from Stiles’ neck, making the words buzz against his skin.

“Hey, I gotta take the advantages where I can find them!”

“Fine, fine,” Derek grumbled but still kissed Stiles’ neck. “But you are hurt. Which means slow for now. And I’m still going to try and protect you. Blame it on self preservation considering I feel your pain now if you have to.” 

Tilting his head back to stretch out his neck and give Derek better access, Stiles hummed his asset. “As long as you’re not trying to protect me by keeping things from me, I’m not going to try and stop you actually stepping between me and someone who’s trying to hurt me.” He pulled back a little, serious now. “It’s when you try and make decisions about my life - that’s what I don’t like, Der. You... deciding that I don’t want to see you. You deciding not to tell me how you feel because what’s the point. You creating this whole council thing without involving me at all. Good stuff, bad stuff - we’re in this together.”

“I’m hardly the only one at fault for most of that stuff,” Derek scowled.

“True - not saying I’m not guilty of stuff as well. I know - I know I should never have blamed you for things the way I did. I used you as my emotional punching bag.”

“I can take it,” Derek said, jumping in before Stiles could even finish that thought.

Stiles lost track of his thought. “What?” 

“I can take it. Emotional or otherwise. I can take it. I’ll heal. You don’t have to keep it locked up.” 

“Er, how about no. How about I find a healthier way of dealing with my shit?”

“Well that would be ideal but it’s you,” Derek countered. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Is it always going to be like this with you? Some kind of rollercoaster between compliment and insult? Because you’re really riding the line here,” he warned, though it was in a good natured way. Stiles already knew any type of being with Derek wouldn’t be simple and easy. He just figured it was worth it. He hoped Derek felt the same about him.

“I never said I was good with words. I’ve actually said that I’m not,” Derek said, hooking his fingers in Stiles’ shirt to pull him back to him.”So it’s probably more of this.” Stiles saw it coming, the cheesy line, the kiss, but that didn’t mean it didn’t melt him any less.

He decided conversation was definitely overrated. Who needed actual words. Not them. No - clearly not them. Tightening his grip on Derek, he lost himself to the kiss. They had waited years for this - finally having it was all that mattered.


	9. Chapter 9

For once it felt like more than just Stiles’ body healed over the next few weeks. As expected, his relationship with Derek was a little bit of a rollercoaster, but he’d come to take more out of the actions, the touches and closeness rather than the mangled compliments. He didn’t need to hear how good he was if he could see it or feel the way that Derek dragged him deeper into the loft as soon as the others left them alone. 

Jackson was still a douche, but it was more of an endearing ribbing, or maybe Stiles just wasn’t taking it as badly because for once, everything Jackson was giving him shit for was true and Stiles didn’t want to change it. Cora did work her magic, managing to pull some of the more embarrassing stories of longing and hoping out of Stiles, but gave up when they got too sappy and most days just settled for punching his arm a touch harder than she should when she passed him. 

What really mattered though was Derek. The way he was just suddenly there. He’d been gone for so long, a gaping hole in Stiles’ life that he was amazed to constantly turn around and just find him there, nearby with that barely there smile that Stiles was starting to mistake for a grin. But he was there and Stiles had never realized how badly he wanted him to be there. Dinners with his dad, loitering in the loft, waiting by the Jeep when Stiles got done with work at the station. The ache was gone and honestly, Stiles was a better emissary for it. 

Isaac at some point and by some small miracle managed to get ‘pack dinners’ voted into existence, based on a rotating schedule for hosting. Stiles assumed he was out of it, not really being _pack_ but Isaac insisted. Stiles was with Derek, which made him pack by association. With that, when they wound up at Stiles’ father’s house, he ordered pizza. Derek was more the Chinese take out kind of guy, so those nights were spent watching Jackson get gentle instructions from Isaac on how to use chopsticks until he got frustrated and Cora handed over a fork. Cora always forgot it was her week until they showed up at the door and the best she had was chips and dip. After the first time the others got in the habit of bringing a few things along with them. Jackson, somehow, hadn’t hosted yet and Isaac wound up being the only one who actually cooked. 

Once a month, with Stiles’ help, they brought the packs together for a group sort of outing. Derek wasn’t a fan of the bonfire out in the preservation, but it came with camping for anyone willing to stick around after s’mores, beers, stories, and a tiny bit of counsel work. Stiles secretly loved it, seeing everyone in his life together and he usually spent half the night texting Lydia pictures to let her know what was better than Ivan. 

As the night wore on, no matter who he was talking to, he always found his way back to Derek, dropping into the other man’s open arms. He knew, _knew_ it wasn’t Derek’s favorite thing, the fire always brought nightmares, but Derek tolerated it because it was Stiles and while he’d been vague when he said it, he liked sleeping under the stars with Stiles pressed against him for warmth. 

When the latest nightmare woke Derek, it jostled Stiles too. The morning was still gray, barely there, but it was enough to pull Derek away from the dying fire, his wolves and Scott’s haphazard pack curled around the embers. Stiles followed like he always did, wrapped in his blanket, hood pulled up over his head. He knew where Derek was going, not at all surprised to see him settle a few feet from the edge of the cliff that overlooked the town not far from their campsite. Stiles didn’t hesitate in joining him, nudging his way into Derek’s arms, resting his back against Derek and pulling the blanket around both of them as Derek let his chin settle on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Bad one?” Stiles asked. 

“Mmm.” 

Stiles nodded slowly. “Do you wanna hear about how it was just a dream, how everything’s gonna be fine and everyone’s safer than they’ve ever been?” 

“No,” Derek said, miserably, tightening his arms round Stiles.

Stiles nodded, letting Derek have that. He wasn’t the only one that had nightmares, but when Stiles woke, he usually just wanted to know he wasn’t still dreaming. “How about how much I love you?”

Stiles felt Derek still behind him and he knew he had the wolf’s full attention now. He tilted his head to the side as Derek dropped his head and nuzzled into his neck. Derek didn’t say a word, but Stiles wasn’t worried about that. “I do,” he said, quietly. “So much. I’d give you the world if I could.”

“You don’t think you have?” Derek’s voice was muffled against Stiles’ skin but Stiles still heard him. 

“That’s a very small world,” Stiles corrected. “There’s a lot more out there.” 

“I don’t need what’s out there,” Derek said, still not lifting his head. Stiles felt the warmth flow through him at the statement and everything that Derek wasn’t specifically saying.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to give it to you any less,” Stiles murmured, basking in everything until Derek’s hand ran along his side, the side that still had nasty scars from Peter’s claws. Stiles knew how Derek felt about them. He saw the way Derek paused sometimes, staring for a moment too long when they were in bed together before kissing him fiercely. 

“Just stay here. That’s enough.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d want to be.” And maybe, under different circumstances, Stiles would have added a joke, or called him a squishy pet name that Derek would have pretended to hate, but secretly loved. Not now, though. They were in a different place right now. Stiles was slowly learning how not to ruin things.

Derek nodded, silent as always, but Stiles was learning to come to terms with that too. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be, where he’d fidget and eventually poke and prod at something until Derek had to say something else. He was actually getting better at reading what the silences meant, whether they needed him to talk or not. It wasn’t one of those times so he didn’t.

“I do too. But you know that,” Derek said eventually, mouth close to Stiles’ ear as he moved his hand from Stiles’ side and wrapped it around his waist instead.

“I know that,” Stiles agreed as the sky lightened into dawn. “Like I know you love me too.” Derek didn’t often say it, but Stiles always felt so, so loved.

Derek nodded against his shoulder again. “So much.” The wolf tightened his grip for a moment and Stiles wondered again, as he had before, if it scared Derek to love him. He’d lost so many people, killed people he loved, and here he was feeling it again. It was dangerous to Derek, but Stiles did his best to see that. To take care of both of them and even listen when it concerned his safety and Derek was doing the same.

“I know Der. I know.”

The words hung between them, heavy, for long moments. Stiles wanted to say something, to break the silence, but it was clear Derek was working up to something, so he made himself keep quiet.

“I want this - always” Derek whispered.

Stiles felt the air rush out of his lungs and words he’d been eager to say to fill the space were forgotten. The best he could do at first was nod, but after a moment of that he managed to make words happen. “Me too. So bad. I can’t imagine not having this.”

Derek hummed a positive response, and Stiles could feel Derek’s lips curve upwards against his skin. Stiles waited, but Derek said nothing more. The quality of silence changed though, from pensive to something far more relaxed.

This wasn’t a happy ever after. Stiles didn’t believe in that - in the idea that things would be perfect just because you got what you wanted. Life didn’t work that way. However, as the sun came up over the trees below them and he relaxed back into Derek’s arms, Stiles knew he could believe in the hope of a new beginning.


End file.
